Strangers in Paradise
by karrenia
Summary: Crossover between Star Gate Atlantis and Highlander: the Series. Written for the challenge "It's the End of the World: As We Knew It.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Strangers in Paradise Author: Karen Fandoms: Stargate Atlantis/ Highlander: the Series Rating: PG, PG-13 Disclaimer: SG Atlantis belongs to Glasner/Wright Productions, and Highlander: the Series belongs to Panzer/Davis Productions; they are not mine. The characters and situations are only 'borrowed ' for entertainment purposes.

"Strangers in Paradise" by Karen

'It's strange, really, when he stops to think about it.'

Heading into the Pegasus Galaxy had seemed like the greatest adventure imaginable. Not only were all of the recruits and volunteers going to be pioneers in exploration and applications of the Star Gate program, they were also being given the opportunity to explore an whole another galaxy than our own.

Sure, they knew it was going to be a one-way trip but Colonel John Sheppard was okay with that, although he understands that for the many men and women here, it might be a wrench to leave behind friends and family back on the Earth-side of the Gate.

It's not the Wraith that concerns him at this precise moment, because Dr. Weir just gave a base-wide public address: It's sobering news. In the aftermath of a long-drawn out war with an alien race known as the Ori, the Stargate Command at the Cheyenne Mountain is no more. Not to mention, the Earth has also been blown up into its component parts.

John Sheppard had just never imagined that any of the alien baddies that they've gone up against would ever have that kind of firepower, or the chance and will to use it against their enemies.

Still, it's happened.

The Ori had demolished central command, presumably all hands lost. "Scratch that, all hands that they weren't able to send through the Gate that is"

John Sheppard glanced around at the crowded infirmary, trying to stay out of the way and sliding into motion whenever Dr. Carson Beckett or his staff instructed him to fetch a medical device, or wheel in gurneys of injured patients, or run computer checks. It's busy work and it kept his mind on the whole Earth that was in no longer where it is supposed to be.

The Earth and their home galaxy exploded, and without asking Weir and Cavanaugh for the exact details, he still can't quite wrap his mind around the idea of his home. It was there one minute, always with the possibility that when their mission in the Pegasus Galaxy is complete, they will have a home to go back to.

He recalled the organized chaos that just came to an end over forty-eight hours ago. He could still recall hearing about how General Jack O'Neill and Major Samantha Carter coordinated the taxing job of transporting as many people and through the gate as that they possibly could. That was shortly before the explosions, smoke, and fire had wiped out the power supply to the gate, and everything had faded to black.

The refugees and base personnel are understandably quite dazed and confused, and he doesn't blame them. Teyla came by and tapped him on the shoulder.

John nodded in acknowledgement. He had to get moving, instead of sitting in corner like a useless lump. Sheppard stood up, squared his shoulders and gave her one of his patented sure-fire winning smile;, the spring back in his step. The very picture of a confident and reassuring leader. He has to be, not just for her sake, but everyone else that depends on him.

In the back of his mind Sheppard decides that he will save the wallowing when they run out of things to do, until then it will have to wait.

Elsewhere One of the patients that Dr. Beckett had given up as a lost cause after his and his team's best efforts, stirred underneath the white plastic sheet that had been thrown over him.

His memories of the past seventy-two hours are jumbled at best and he can't say for sure if the memories that are reliable and that do make any sense, are ones that belong to him or to the Immortal that he just bested in a fight. The Quickening did strange things to one's mental fortitude not to mention one's body and mind. Richie Ryan has lost many a leather jacket to the aftermath of an Immortal Quickening. He and lightning have never made that great a mix; life can be funny that way.

It is just another reminder, not that he needed many more, that even being an Immortal means more than a few drawbacks, not to mention, ironies.

When he had recovered sufficiently to throw off the sheet, sit up in the bed he realized that he was in a medical facility. It fazed him only to the point that if he survived the fight with another Immortal he should not be the one relegated to the place for the deceased.

Richie raised himself to a sitting position and raises his arms to feel the back of his neck, checking to make sure that his head is still quite firmly attached to the rest of his body.

Reassured on that count Richie blinked and tried to gett a better idea of his immediate surroundings. There were lots of people, all scurrying about in an apparent organized chaos, too busy to notice that one of the 'causalities, is not as dead as they thought.

By his lights and experiences it was probably better that way, it got him out of the inevitable awkward scnees and having to answer a lot of well-meaning but prying questions. about not being dead.

Still as Richie glanced down at his mostly nude form covered by the white plastic sheet he came to the realization that getting out of here inconspicuously and without a lot of undue fuss just might be harder than he thought.

Out of the corner of his eye Richie noticed that a tall, attractive woman was watching him with an intent and curious look in her dark eyes, and standing beside her, wearing what appeared to be some kind of military uniform, is an equally intent and commanding looking man. He had the flag of the United States on his shoulder of the uniform, that it meant anything, not to him, and not now.

Richie tried to appear nonchalant and friendly, but his pale skin betrayed his embarrassment at sitting in the middle of a medical ward dressed in nothing but his skivves. Richie briefly considered reaching down and picking up the discarded sheet.  
The woman makes a hand signal to the military officer and they approach his bed.

She did not say anything right away, but only stood a few feet as she stared directly into his own blue eyes.

Richie did not know what to make of this attention, nor does he know exactly what she is looking for. The military officer answers both of those questions, by grabbing him by his shoulders, yanking him forward and asking point blank: "Those blue eyes have seen more than someone your age should have any right to, so tell me, right now. Who are you? What are you doing here"

Richie pulled back from both the questioning and the hold the other man had on his shoulders, breaking free long enough to dart an indignant look at the officer. In the back of his mind, Richie wondered how this military officer could pick up on the 'vibe' given off by Immortals. Sure, he's not the oldest or most experienced among the long-lived race but he'd been around the block long enough too at least keep himself intact. He also had had the benefit of being Duncan MacLeod's student. Still, the fact that Sheppard senses that there more to him than what appears on the surface, frozen at somewhere in his late-twenties, is more than a bit disconcerting.

"I'd be more than happy to answer your questions, it's just better if you told me who you are first."

"Lt Colonel John Sheppard." He turned his head, to look around at the slowly clearing medical ward and then at the woman standing beside him. "This is Teyla. Now, do you want to try that again?"

"Ryan, Richie Ryan," "Well, Mr. Ryan, how about answering my second question.

"I don't know"

"Don't know?" Teyla echoed.

"I don't know what I'm doing here, aside from dying from embarrassment and answering questions. Where are my clothes"

Teyla went over to a cupboard, opened it and took out a folded pile of nondescript charcoal black pants and a loose short-sleeved shirt and then threw the clothes to him with a brusque, "here'. Richie caught the bundle and quickly put them on. Feeling a bit better about being dressed he turned his attention back to Sheppard and Teyla.

"Feel better?" Sheppard asked.

"Much, thanks."

"Now, let's try this again," Sheppard said, "It's been a long, exhausting day, and I don't see it ending any time soon, when we're done here, I've got a date with my pillow. So, did Ford send you to spy on us?"

"I don't know anyone named Ford, except for the ex-president of the United States. Richie tried for the glib reply, figuring it would better than nothing at all.

"Cute. Are you aware that the United States, in fact the entire world just went 'boom' as in it's gone?" Sheppard seemed distracted and a little angry, but Richie could not tell if he was angry at the situation, angry with him for his devil-may-care attitude or just angry in general.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Richie exclaimed, bolting up from his seated position on the bed. "Come on, man, that's a sick joke, the world is still right where I left it when I woke up. It can't be gone. It just can't be gone."

"Well, I assure you it is. It would be ridiculous and irrational of me to place the blame for something like that on a kid your age, and I don't mean to come down on you like a drill sergeant in boot camp." Sheppard shrugged. "I'm just have a hard time dealing with the situation. "Colonel Sheppard, would you like me take over from here?" Teyla asked.

"Sure," Sheppard replied.

"Ryan, what is the last thing you do remember?"

"I feel like I'm the star of some bizarre episode of this is your life meets the twilight zone,⌠ Richie replied, "Okay, for the sake of argument, let's say the earth really is gone, how can we be here, having this conversation"

"Well, it's because we're no longer on the Earth, we're in another galaxy."

"Yeah, one where everyone is completely insane?" Richie sighed, shuffled his feet on the floor and looked around, when he noticed for the first time that while the uniforms of the people in the ward were for the most part quite similar; many wore the colors of their home country flag colors on their lapels. "Refugees"

"No, not so much. We're in the Pegasus Galaxy, and I must say, you are quite lucid and rational for one of the refugees brought over from the Earth side before your world was destroyed." Teyla replied. "The shock of the transition would explain why you have no memory of the disaster".

"Temporary amnesia," Richie shook his head. "That's comforting, I think"

"I should get Doctor Beckkett, when he has a free moment, to check you for head trauma," Teyla remarked. "Good idea," Richie replied, not knowing what else to say to that, "Aside from that, I feel fine, can I live the critical wounded ward, if only to make room for another patient that really needs to be here"

"I see no harm in that," Teyla smiled.

"Great. Excellent, in fact." So, what did you have in mind to keep me occupied"

"If you feel you are up to some physical exertion," Teyla winked at him. "Might I suggest sparring practice." She added this time with an air of appraisal at his short but stocky frame which was now covered by the charcoal sweats pants and shirt.

"Now, that, would certainly keep me occupied." "Indeed." He likes you, you know?"

"He"

"Colonel Sheppard." Teyla smiled. "There is something, I can not explain exactly, but you remind him of an old friend that is no longer here."

"Really. Could have fooled me." Riche shrugged. "I thought he was pretty convincing on the tough military guy act." That old friend wasn't named Ford, something or other, by any chance.

"Indeed," Teyla replied. "Sheppard just erred on the side of caution. It's a delicate situation we are facing at the moment. We will need to treat and brief all refugees. In the meantime please come with me to the training rooms."

"Sure," Richie replied, standing up and stretching. "But what happens after that, I mean with all the refugees?"

"It is a big city. I am certain Doctor Weir, and the others will find something to meet both the needs and resources of all those brought over as well as something that will be an equitable solution to those already stationed at the Pegasus Base."

"Not that I'm interested, but just how many people are we talking about here?"

"Just over six hundred"

"I don't know who Doctor Weir is, but that's gotta be an administrative nightmare, I wish him, or her, good luck with that." Richie whistled, letting out his breath and his tension.

"Well, then, shall we?" Teyla invited.

"I think we shall," Richie smiled. "You really think he likes me"

"Sheppard does not make a habit of drilling all new comers, but he thinks that you are different, and that makes him interested in you." Teyla replied leading the way down the aisles between the stations and the various beds nodding in acknowledge to the apparent senior doctor on staff.

Then she led the way through a door out into a long, winding corridors. "Whether or not this sudden interest in you is a good or a bad thing. Well," Teyla shrugged and titled her head to one side, thinking over the matter, "as I think you say, only time will tell."


	2. Looking for Cracks in the Pavement

Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis and all of the characters belong to its respective producers and creators; they are not mine. Takes place in Season 2 of SG: Atlantis. 

Highlander: the Series belongs to Panzer/Davis Productions, and again it is not mine, I am only 'borrowing' it for the purposes of the story. Note: events pick up shortly after where the previous story "Strangers in Paradise" left off. Written for crossovers100 prompt #80 island.

"Looking for Cracks in the Pavement" by Karen

Once the initial shock of actually being in another galaxy had worn off and Richie Ryan had, up until now, believed himself capable of imagining just about any crazy, out-of this world possibility, but, this, 'this' fell into an entirely different category he did not have the words for. 'That might prove to be a problem," Richie thought.

Somehow, despite everything that had happened, I mean, if their home planet did go boom, and how did that happen anyway? He had gone over everything that he had been told about, which was not very much in his estimation, and what he had not been told was a whole lot more telling, by his way of thinking.

It was an one in a million chance that something dire might have happened to the Earth, and despite everything he still could not quite manage to wrap his brain around the fact, that Earth, effectively was gone, and for the over 3,000 survivors, counting the ones already living, and working at the Pegasus Base; this was it.

That thought brought him to a halt in the midst of attempting to block a lunge and thrust at his mid section, and that inattention was rewarded by a painful blow to his lower ribs.

Teyla had not really meant the blow to hurt, but after several hours of sparring practice, Richie knew that she did have a habit of milking every opportunity that presented itself.

"You are not placing your full concentration into this exercise," she observed with a wry grin twisting the corners of her full, and very red lips.

Richie winced in pain at the blow and mustered up one his trademarked cocky grins.  
"Yeah, I know. I guess, this wasn't such a good idea as I sounded. Could we take a breather?"

"If you wish," she smiled and pivoted on her to replace the sparring quarterstaffs back in their holder and then turned around to face him again.

In the back of her mind she wondered that by releasing the young man so quickly out of the infirmary, and pushing him into such strenuous activity had been the wisest move on her part.

However there was something about him, not just because he was attractive for a human male, and the fact that he had that look on his face when he woke up that said 'take me home and take care of me,' that she had been prompted to well, she shrugged and thought. "I shall take this one under my proverbial wing,' and teach him a thing or two about life here.'

"Teyla," Richie began when had found a comfortable spot to sit on the floor.

"Yes, Richie," she replied with a quick smile.

"Look, I realize that there are probably a lot topics of conversation that you can't talk about," Richie said and sighed.

His ribs hurt, a lot, but that would soon be remedied by his Immortal healing factor, so he figured that he didn't have much to worry about on that score, unless, the hi-tech medical facilities at this base were much more accurate than the ones back on Earth.

Aloud he said," I don't understand a lot of what happened." He paused and took a deep breath. "Is the Earth, the one I knew, really gone?"

"There is no easy way to tell you this," Teyla sighed. "Yes, in a word, yes."

"My people have had to deal with losses such as this many a time, and each time it is very difficult to make the adjustment."

"Wait, your people?"

"We are not natives of the Atlantis base, it was built by the long vanished Ancients, and even those that have come here, and now make this their new home, come from Earth."

"Okay. I guess, I follow what you're saying, but what happened?" he asked.

"I am not entirely certain, however, the Earth was under siege by beings called the Ori, and opposition to them had been gradually dwindling until there were few left to fight against them." Teyla shrugged, "You are correct in your assessment that I can only go into so much detail; in short, the planet you call Earth exploded."

"The planet blew up because a bunch of space aliens attacked it?" Riche exclaimed.

Teyla nodded. "We managed to save as many of your people as we could, through the wormhole we call the Stargate, that is how you arrived here."

'Weird, even for me," Richie muttered under his breath. In the back of his mind the delayed reaction to what she was saying and the implications finally hit him in his gut, and this pain was much worse than the pain from the blow to his ribs, which had finally subsided. That meant everyone he had known back on Earth was gone.

His friends were gone: Duncan Macleod, his best friend and mentor, Amanda, Joe Dawson, even Methos. 'Although, he tilted his head and thought the matter, on that last, Methos, being Methos, probably had found a way to wriggle around the whole end of the world, probably found the whole thing a minor inconvenience, and found a way to survive, out of sheer stubbornness and spite.'

"Is there any way I could find out if anyone I knew is among the survivors?"

"I don't know. I suspect that Dr. Beckett has a manifest list in his records," Teyla shrugged and one defined dark eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch upwards. "I should clearance for that from either Major Sheppard or Dr. Weir."

"Is this really a military installation?" he asked.

"It is," Teyla replied.  
Richie nodded. "Okay, why are you helping me?"

"I find you, well," she shrugged. "Interesting."

"Great, just great." Richie sighed and reached up to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

Richie had mixed emotions about whether it was a good thing for this obviously capable, generous, and very attractive woman to be quite this interested in him.

On the one hand he liked the attention and was quite flattered, on the other hand, he might be in over his head in this situation, and maybe not literally, as in another Immortal looking to separate his head from his shoulders; but the danger could not be shrugged aside so easily.

"You could have ended up quite dead, or at best crowded in with the other civilians in general quarters."

"I guess I owe you one, then, huh?"remarked Richie with one his trademark off-kilter grins plastered on his face.

"I shall remember that when the time comes." Teyla return the grin and helped Richie to his feet.  
"Do we have a deal?"

"I probably will end up regretting this," Richie replied, accepting the hand that Teyla held out to him. "But, sure, what the hell, we have a deal."

Encounter

Much later, Sheppard had been reluctant to take an relatively unproven and inexperienced civilian along on a dangerous mission, but in the end, Teyla had persuaded him, with the rather pointed reminder that he had felt the same way about Dr. Rodney Mckay, at first.

This new kid, Richard Ryan, was his name. He preferred to be called, Richie, however.

Teyla seemed to be quite taken with the young man, and had begun training him in the arts of her people's unarmed combat.

John just hopped that his team would noy run into anything dangerous this time out. The law of averages being what they were, he was playing rather close to the vest.

A short while back there had been a major blow up at the base between Teyla's people and the human newcomers to Atlantis, that someone from the inside, one of their own was capable of betraying them all to the not-so tender mercies of the Wraith, by leaking the coordinates of their off-world missions.

It had gotten to the point that every time they gated through, the Wraith would be there, lying in wait for them.  
Sheppard had lost one too many off his team, men and women both, good men and women, to afford to take chances. As difficult as it was to accept, the quarantine of the Athosian people had been a necessary and however difficult step.

He was just glad that particular mess was well behind them. He liked Teyla, admired her courage and wit, and when called for it, her practicality, so when she had vouched for Ryan, it had been difficult to say no to her.

Dr. Weir had even okayed it. In the back of his mind, John could not figure out what they saw in the kid, over the age of majority, but still to all appearances, just a kid, who had been pulled out of the wreckage of Earth and brought to the Atlantis base along with the other hundreds of refugees.

Much later

John Sheppard and his team fanned out from the point of entry on the opposite of the gate, still in formation, while he ordered Mckay and Lorne to set up a perimeter. So far so good,' he thought. "We haven't been attacked or threatened upon arrival. So that's a definite plus. The kid isn't panicking, as much as I thought he might be, and Mckay has managed to run his mouth off, so on the whole I'd say we're doing pretty good.'

"Is all this stuff, really necessary?" Richie asked as he hefted the Zat gun he held loosely in one hand. "I mean, don't you think it's well, for lack of a better word, overkill?"

Sheppard pivoted on his heel, and granted the newest member of his team with a baleful glare, "Ryan, I realize that you are newbie to this job, and as such I am willing to grant you a certain amount of leeway. Butm you will treat that 'stuff' as you eloquently put it, with respect."

Richie gulped, as much as he enjoyed being the center of attention, Sheppard's glare was right up there in the caliber of some of his old mentor and teacher Duncan MacLeod's legendary glowers. "Crystal clear, boss-man".

The glare pared down to a down to a grim regard so Richie tacked on a belated 'Sir'.

"Right, make sure you remember that, Mr. Ryan," Sheppard added and turned back to start walking in the direction he had chosen. Over his shoulder, "Teyla, watch out for him, will you." This said in a much more reasonable tone of voice.

To his immediate right and behind him, Dr. Mckay smothered a dry chuckle masking it behind a cough. "You're lucky. Me, the first time I tried a stunt like that, I got slapped."

"You're joking, right?" Riche muttered in mingled disgust and embarrassment.

"Maybe a little,: McKay replied and resumed walking, half-running to keep pace with the other soldiers. Teyla, who had lagged behind when Sheppard had been speaking nodded and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Just follow me and you will be fine."

'Great, just great. What the hell have I gotten myself into, and how did I let you talk me into doing it?' Richie kept walking, this time carrying his weapon and gear in the proper way.

"It must be that magnetic personality of hers," Rodney remarked, as he and Teyla hurried to catch up with the others. "At least that's my theory, and if I am ever pressured to testify that, well, that's my story and I'm sticking to it."

"You are just happy that someone else is getting the trial by fire instead of you," Teyla remarked with a small mischievous smile.

"I am not. So there. "Dr. McKay said and shifted his position the line.

The big man introduced to Richie as Ronon Dex looked over at the three of them and winked. "Tough being the new kid. You willl get used to it after a while."

"Now there's an endorsement if I ever heard one."

"Don't get too comfortable, Ryan," Ronon added. "You need to get shot at, cut up and banged up a few times before it really begins to feel like home."

Richie looked up at the big man, and let his breath out in a slow piercing whistle. "You are just yanking my chain around, right?"

"No, I'm serious." Ronon reached down and clapped Richie on the shoulder hard enough to make him lose his balance for a second or two, before he moved on whistling tunelessly under his breath.

"Gee, thanks, I can't wait." Richie said as they kept moving, not saying anything else for the remainder of the march.

It might have been his imagination but he could have sworn that both Teyla and Dr. McKay had a small smirk hovering about the corners of their lips. 'What the hell?' Richie thought. 'Might as well make the most of it.'

Fight Scene.

Out of the tangled copses of trees and bushes, Sheppard growled and prepped his weapons for combat. If he had been alone, he was not certain that he would have been able to keep from pulling the trigger and taking a shot ad the man at the head of the small ambush party.

Not that long ago, that man had been a trusted friend and subordinate, Lieutenant Aiden Ford, now leading a band of rebels, who were little better, to his way of thinking, than bandits. The fact that they continued to fight off the Wraith, maybe scored a few points in his book, he just was not happy by the obvious edge Ford had granted to himself and his by taking does of the Wraith enzyme.

During their previous encounter, Ford had held his team captive and subjected Teyla, Ronon to a small dosage of the enzyme. It was still anyone's guess, just what kind of long term effects that exposure would do to them all.

Ford strode forward, with an almost arrogant and confident swagger. ⌠You must as well come out of hiding, Sheppard. I know that you're there."

"Well, good for you," Sheppard replied.

"We cannot trust this man," Teyla whispered in Sheppard's ear.

"I know, I know. And I share your concerns. But until Carson can safely synthesize more of the enzyme, we need him, or rather his cooperation," replied John, gritting his teeth in mingled frustration and anger.

Richie did not have any way of knowing the previous history between Sheppard, his team and this Ford person, but in spite of that lack, he could have sworn that he was picking up vibes, not the good kind, but the kind that made even the most seasoned and experienced Immortals make sure that their swords were close at hand.

For a brief moment, Richie considered if he had been mistaken in his earlier assumption, that were not other Immortals, other than himself. The hairs on the back of his neck tingle. However, this time, the sensation was not as pronounced as it usually was when he felt the 'Buzz. Either this guy was not an Immortal, or he was something else, as yet uncategorized.'

At this point Richie was not willing to rule anything out of the ordinary out.

Ford and his squad came farther into the open space, spreading his hands wide in the universal wordless expression that said, no harm, no foul. "You obviously did not come here for a social call," Ford added. "You want something, I am I feeling in a generous mood, today. So out with it, already."

"You are one sick bastard," Ronon muttered under his breath, half lunging forward, his blades drawn and his lips twisted in a snarl. Sheppard held out one arm lengthwise and blocked the taller man's forward motion. "Easy, Ronon. I know how you feel, but we got bigger fish to fry."

"What do fried fish have to do with this?" Ronon asked, puzzled by the human expression.

"It's an idiom, Ronon," Dr. McKkay said. "A figure of speech. It means..."he trailed off and then added.

"Oh why do I even bother?"

"Cute, very cute," Ford added as Sheppard stepped forward and went to face the younger man.

"Look, we've been over this before and I think we both would very much like to conduct our business with a minimal of fuss." Sheppard added as he closed the gap between them.

Ford grinned and for the first time since their arrival Richie noted that black man▓s eyes were as black as his uniform jacket, and while that may not have been the oddest thing about them, the fact that they had no white pupils showing, now that struck him as damned odd.

'What the hell?' Richie thought and filed the information away, returning his attention back to the interaction between Sheppard and the man referred to as Ford.

"How much do you need?" Ford asked.

"What makes you think I need anything from you?" Sheppard retorted.

"Oh, please! Do you use that tired old routine on the other inhabitants during negotiation? If that's the case, than its wonder the Atlantis base got any supplies while I was there."

"Just because you got that new upgrade, doesn't mean, you can speak to me that way."

"Sheppard, direct and to the point as ever," Ford replied. "You know that was always the thing I admired the most about you. I always wanted to be just like you, but then the Wraith came and changed everything between us, now it's different."

"Don't blame this situation on the Wraith, much as might like to blame almost everything else on them." Sheppard paused and then added. "That is too much of an easy way out."

"Ah, perhaps your are right about that." Ford sighed. "Speaking of the Wraith, you want the enzyme, for Teyla and Ronon, am I right?"

"You're just going to hand it over?" Sheppard asked, with mingled relief and puzzlement in his tone of voice.

"As stated previously," Ford sighed. "I find myself in a generous mood today,. With a nod and a hand signal to one of his men, Ford indicated that a carton be brought forward sealed tightly and with hand-made labels taped onto its surface. "There you go, enough enzyme supply to last your people for at least three, maybe four weeks. Longer, if you cut the dosage in half."

"What do you want in exchange?" Sheppard growled, somewhat taken aback by how open-handed Ford was being.

"Oh, nothing, but I could use more of those C4 explosives you guys carry around. They do tend to come in handy now and again, if you know what I mean?"

Ford smiled, and not a pleasant one, this one showing the full effect of his Wraith-enzyme altered eyes.  
"I am going to regret this, and I will say as much to Elizabeth when we return to the base," Sheppard sighed.

"Give my regards to Elizabeth, will you," Ford drawled.

"But okay, you've got a deal," Sheppard replied ignoring the last comment and its rather obvious overtones.

"I don't like it. It's too easy," Ronon interrupted from where he stood at the forefront of Sheppard's squad.

"Nor do I, but we seem to have little choice in the matter," Teyla replied.

The exchange all told, took all of fifteen to twenty minutes as the packets of C4 changed hands, along with the smaller than expected cartons containing the drug.

Aftewards Major Sheppard ordered his team to return to the gate entry site and then dialed the coordinates of the Atlantis Base.

Meanwhile

"Has Major Sheppard's team contacted the base in the last two hours? They were not reported at the pre-arranged rendezvous spot," Dr. Weir said.

"Elizabeth, worrying about it isnae gonna get them back any faster." Dr. Carson Beckett mildly said as he ran the figures on his computer monitor one more time, sighing at the less than stellar results of the computer model he had been running.

He wished that he could provide Dr. Weir with more promising figures, as it was, he just had to work with what he had.

"Damn it! Don't treat me like a child," she snapped. She was operating on short sleep and high adrenaline, not a good combination under ideal circumstances, and these were anything less than ideal.

"I am sorry, Elizabeth, "Dr. Carson Beckett said."I didnae mean to, oh aye, no word yet, and we've got people working on it around the clock, so Kavaungh informs me." Beckett's soft Scottish burr even more pronounced when he was under stress or exhausted.

"I;m sorry, Carson," Elizabeth sighed and then she ran her fingers through her shoulder-length auburn hair. "I am not helping matters move along any quicker am I?"

Conclusion

Elizabeth sat in her office , at her desk a half-empty cup of coffee apparently forgotten at her elbow, while she stood scrolling through a very long list of facts and figures on her computer screen.

Colonel John Sheppard waited in the entry way, waiting until she noticed his presence and invited him into her office.

She sighed and reached up behind her head to rub at the tense and knotted muscles of her neck, aching from being hunched over for so long. "John, I didn't see you there. Please come in."

"How did the mission go?" she asked.

"You read the report I submitted," he replied.

"I know, but I wanted to hear it from you, in person, as it were""

Elizbeth sighed and ran her hands through her hair. It was a habit of hers, and one he had grown quite fond of, in the few years that they had worked together. "Indulge me."

"Well, I would not exactly call it a smashing success. "However we did secure the supply and Beckett's working on it as we speak." John replied, wondering if how much of his own personal feelings regarding the mission had crept into both his report and his voice.

Elizabeth was no fool, and she knew that was he deliberately holding something back.  
⌠I hate this, I hate having to rely on a, for lack of a better description, is a drug supply:  
Elizabeth, tell me I'm wrong on that score."

"John," Elizabeth said, then trailed off. "Look, I understand how you feel about the Wraith enzyme. For the record, I'm not exactly not crazy about it myself. If we are successful Carson will soon have a modified version that will be less harmful."

"Okay, okay, I get it. I really do. I just don't have to like it." John added. "I just need to be reminded every once in a while, you know?"

For the first time in a very long and trying day, Elizabeth allowed a genuine smile to slip out and she laughed. "Yes, know."

Continued in chapter 3: The Devil Hedges His Bets


	3. Devil Hedges His Bets

  
Disclaimer: Stargate: Atlantis belongs to its respective producers and creators; it is not mine. 

Highlander: the Series belongs to Panzer/Davis Productions, and again it is not mine.  
Note: The story picks up shortly after where the previous story, "Looking for Cracks in the Pavement" left off. Written for crossovers100 prompt #04 insides".

"Devil Hedges His Bets" by Karen

He had learned a long time ago never to take anything for granted, especially when it means preserving his own well-being. And at first, that maxim had served him well, after all, if the majority of his own planet's population had died in the final assault by the Wraith; he is still here to tell about it.

Ronon Dex had long ago learned that sometimes what might seem to be selfish regard could be quite legitimately be construed as a case for one's own continued survival.

That was until his training, skill and sheer luck simply ran out and his life was saved by Dr. Weir, Colonel Sheppard and the rest of the Atlantis crew.

He had resented them for that fact, at first although he would never admit to that fact in so many word.

Instead he preferred a more subtle approach to expressing his dissatisfaction with feeling trapped and boxed in; not a good scenario for someone who had spent years on the run.

As far as the Wraith were concerned Ronon and his people were just moving targets prey, and much like other sentient beings, humans included, there were two distinct divisions among people: predator and prey.

Looking back on his time spent as a runner makes Ronon feel just a tad bit nostalgic, but not much. If he has learned anything, it is too keep moving forward, which might explain why he seems to haven taken a mildly impatient if fond interest in the newest recruit to Colonel Sheppard's team.

Oh, of course, Dr. McKay had made his opinion quite clear. McKay had a way of both being head-strong, opinionated, brilliant, and exasperating at the same time.

Maybe that was why he felt a certain kinship with high-strung scientist; it reminded Ronon of himself as much younger man.

Sometimes he thought the Ryan kid had had at least a smidgen of military training, or related skill in his past, a past that he wouldn't talk about or if pressed, go into a great deal of detail, but there it was obvious that he had been through a lot for someone his age. And it surfaced in different ways. Perhaps Ronon had an instinctive feeling that Richie Ryan was something more than appeared was because of the way he carried himself, or maybe it was the look in the bright blue eyes.

"He has an old soul," Ronon muttered under his breath. "Kinda reminds me of Sheppard. Maybe I should have Dr. Beckett check to see if the kid has the ATA gene. One way or another it will be interesting to find out.'

However, something about the young man just responded to his gut instinct and the ability to read people; both by their words and what they did not say, told him that Mr. Ryan was something more than what showed on the surface.

Ronon could not be that far wrong, after all Teyla had vouched for him, and perhaps despite other objections, had included the young man on a routine off-world mission.

Ronon determined, after thinking it through some more, that he would go and have a chat with Teyla, and ascertain if her instincts had been correct. After all, it might prove both useful and interesting.

Ronon got up from the floor where had been absorbed in cleaning and polishing his knife blades, and then rubbing them down with a towel. Twisting his head to relieve it of the ache of being in one position too long he strode towards the door of his quarters and went out into the hallway of the main portion of the base, giving brief nods of acknowledge to those he passed.

Interlude Ronon found Richie in the lab that Dr. McKay, and Dr. Zelenka and the other scientists kept their equipment and computer monitors, the place was buzzing with activity and the inevitable whine of machinery hooked up as it was to the Atlantis base main energy generator.

In the time it took for the young man to draw a breath, raise a hand to wipe away the sweat that beaded up on his brow, Ronon strode forward, grabbed a chair and straddled it, holding on to the chair back with both of his hands.

Richie looked up and nearly fell over as the chair he was sitting in titled too far backwards. "Uh, Hi, I mean, oh what the hell," he managed.

"Relax," Ronon replied, trying to hide a wry smile behind a smooth disarming exterior. "What are you reading?" he asked.

"Orientation 101," Richie answered in a dull bored tone,, but a few seconds later he asked , "Speaking of orientation, how does anyone find their way around here?"

"Trial and error, then we use maps. When all else fails we rely on memory or just dumb luck," Ronon replied.

"Now, this time I know you're just yanking my chain around." Richie sighed and tilted forward until he had regained his balance, unfortunately he had lost his place in his reading material and tilted his head back over the pages spread open before him, scanning the text for the section where he had left off at.

"Do all the newbies have to got through this?" Richie asked.

"More or less," Ronon replied.

"You know this is about as complicated as doing the accounting for my old friend Duncan MacLeod."

"How so," Ronon encouraged.

"Well, for starters there was a lot of paperwork to go through, and I mean a lot. The man never bothered to sort through it all."

"What kind of business was he in?"

"Antiques and later on he bought and managed a dojo."

"Quite a change, but from my own experience, there is a black market for antiques, so both career paths could have proven to be equally dangerous." Ronon smiled.

Richie laughed, "Yeah, don't tell me that you're a mind reader, too?"

"No, not quite," Ronon replied, "however I had a gut feeling that there was more to you than met the eye. "

Watching Richie's face and body language as he casually, but also calculatedly said this last bit was quite telling. The young man's expression turned to one of mingled caution and surprise. The lines in his forehead creased, and his blue eyes went a shade colder.

"Don't be alarmed," Ronon said quietly, "I'm not here to make trouble for you. In fact, truth to tell, I'm interested. You said yourself you managed the books for a dojo. I merely assumed by that it also meant that you learned more than just a little about martial arts."

Richie sucked in a deep breath, allowing some if not all of the tension to seep out of his mind and body. Even before he had become immortal Richie had spent most of his young adult life in a flight or flee mode, old habits die hard.

"I guess so," Richie said aloud. In the back of his mind he wondered if this little visit had more to it than met the eye. After all, after his whole dying on the operating table, waking up, and then being dragged along on a trading mission at Teyla's insistence, he should have known that somewhere along the road these Pegasus base folks would want to start asking questions, and questions led to potentially dangerous answers. Which could lead to all kinds of trouble.

Richie squirmed and it might have been just his imagination but he could have sworn that could feel a itch in his shoulder blades, an itch that he could not reach no matter how hard he tried.

It made him feel like a teenager again who gone to a overly-protective father who sat him down on the couch and grilled over his intentions with the father's little girl who had designs on dating. Richie gulped and maintained eye contact with the taller and much bigger man.

"Teyla seems to think quite highly of you," Ronon continued.

Richie allowed a small grin to slip out. "Yeah, does she spend most of her time beating the guys she 'thinks highly of,' black and blue?"

"It is possible that you are simply a bit rusty," Ronon replied echoing the wry grin, "With a little more practice you will be able to avoid being beaten black and blue."

"I would prefer to go for at least a draw." Richie laughed and slapped his palm on the surface of the table.

"You're on." Ronon replied slapping his own hand on the table.

Encounter

It should have been a routine search and retrieve mission, go to the planet and gather up additional supplies of the fuel Naquada.

Being ambushed by the Wraith shortly on the heels of stepping through the gate was something that was becoming both highly annoying and highly frequent. By Colonel John Sheppard's reckoning he would not want to lay odds which one added up to being more aggravating under the present circumstances. In the back of his mind, Sheppard thought of an old Earth saying, 'The greatest trick the devil ever pulled on an unsuspecting mankind was to prove that he did not exist.'

'Oh the devil exists alright and they are called them the Wraith," John muttered aloud as he quickly ducked to avoid the beam of highly concentrated energy that streaked over and away in the spot where his head had been only seconds before.

"Keep it up, and we might get out this one alive after all!" Sheppard shouted to be heard over the din of the firing and the occasional grunts and the falling debris of soil, dirt and rock that ricocheted off their improvised shelter.

Out in the open, among an otherwise idyllic setting of a meadow studded here and there with rocky outcroppings that appeared to have been thrown there by some bored giant, he had ordered his team to take cover and take up defensive positions.

Ronon, Teyla, and Ryan faced the hostiles on the northward side, while he, McKay, Lt. Cadman faced the ones on the south side, the remainder of his team split their fire on the west and north side. As it was, Sheppard figured that they would not get out this mess without at least a few casualties.

Lt. Cadman took a hit in the thigh and staggered for a few seconds before reeling into Dr. McKay and, with a grimace she managed to steady herself, reposition her weapon in one hand, and with the other keep up her defensive fire.

He could tell that Rodney was worried about her, but he merely asked if she was okay before returning his attention back to the task at hand.

"Sheppard!" Ronon yelled, "They are turning back! We're driving them off!"

"It is possible that they were only a scouting party," Teyla added.

"Fine, let's finish the job, people!" Sheppard ordered.

Richie had never imagined he would ever see creatures quite like these.

Colonel Sheppard called them the Wraith, and looking at them as they approached the squad's hunkered down position behind an outcropping of rocky formations that once might have been either a village or a temple, all he could think off was that the word did not come to close to describing what he felt at this moment.

Fear was paramount, but also loathing and anger that these ugly, horrid things sole purpose for existing was to come snuff out their lives.

From his interrupted reading he already knew that Wraith cannibals, and that fact alone made his gorge rise and he felt like he was going to heave up all the contents of his stomach. He had not made the mistake of eating breakfast before they left the base earlier that morning, so it was all a reflex action.

Richie counted to ten backwards in the silence of his mind and glanced around at his teammates and wondered, not for the first time, exactly what he had gotten himself into this time.

The creatures referred to as the Wraith seemed very resistant or at least tough enough to take quite a bit of laser fire, and keep coming. And his squad's weapons could not hold out forever. So far Lt. Cadman had sustained the only hit but she kept on fighting, the others were bruised and dirty, but that was mostly due to flying debris and from kneeling in the soft spongy ground of the open grasslands.

Richie swallowed and the frantic clutch around the barrel of his laser rifle was tight and white-knuckled. This was a fight unlike any he had ever imagined outside of reading the dime store pulp novels as a kid. And it certainly was not like any fight he had ever had growing up as a punk kid on the streets of Seattle, or even the sword fights as an Immortal; this totally out of his realm of experience.

When it came it was too sudden to register on his consciousness, The jagged-edge sensation of pain spreading outward like ripples in a pond that had had a stone dropped into it was all he knew, before Richie's world went black and he passed out.

⌠Ryan▓s down and Cadman▓s injured!■ Dr. McKay▓s shouted.

⌠The Wraith are departing the premises,■ Teyla calmly reported, hoping against hope that the wound was not as deep and bad as it looked. She felt responsible for the young man, and it was at her insistence that had been assigned to Sheppard▓s team. If he became injured or even died; it would be her fault.

"I know, I know." Turning to address Lt. Cadman. "Can you walk?" Sheppard asked.

"Yes, Sir," she promptly replied.

"Okay, we can rig a travois for Ryan, and then I..." Sheppard broke off on whatever else he had been meaning to say his mouth hanging open in mingled shock and surprise as he say tiny, splintering bolts of blue colored lighting swirl and spin around the edges of the wound where Richie had been hit.

The lights apparently were not only doing their level best to close the injury but the young man was also groaning in pain and beginning to come around. "Uh, Rodney, what do you make of that?"

"Intriguing," Rodney replied, "It seems to be a reverse of a spontaneous combustion phenomenon."

Ronon cut in with his customary brisk gruffness, "In other words you have no idea either."

Richie wondered as consciousness slowly returned, wondering in the back of his mind if there ever were another Immortal in the Watchers' recorded history who had died, revived, and did so with such frequency, with an audience. It was becoming something of a bad habit where he was concerned. He suddenly very much wished that he could find a way to break himself of it.

He sat up, gasping in deep ragged breaths of the air, blinking his eyes repeatedly, trying to avoid for as long as possible the inevitable questions that would follow his revival. This was the hard part, he thought and then shoved the idle thought to a back corner of his mind.

Richie sat up and blinked in the bright sunlight filtering down through breaks in the cloudy sky overhead. "Are they gone?" he asked for something else to talk about.

"If you mean the Wraith,■ Ronon replied, "the answer is yes."

"What the hell was that?" McKay demanded curiously.

"I haven't any idea what you're talking about," Richie tried.

"No more of your BS, kiddo," Sheppard replied. "That was a direct hit and most people don't take something like that, and sit up and say they're fine twenty minutes later, so give."

"Can it wait until we return to the base?" Richie asked. "I realize that you're all probably wondering about, but it is... he trailed off. "Well, its, well complicated."

"Well, why don't you simplify it for us, hmmm,?" Sheppard drawled and smiled, the shock at the strangeness have finally worn off and he reached down a hand to help the young man to his feet. In the back of his mind, he thought, 'That was a cool trick, I'd give a lot to figure out how it's done but it can wait until we get home.'

Aftermath

"Incoming wormhole," the technician announced over the Pegasus Base intercom, "Dr. Weir to the Gate Room."

Over the intercom she responded, "I'm on my way."

"It's Colonel Sheppard's team and they've got the Naquada, but according to Sheppard's last radio communique they have also got wounded and at least one casualty."

"I will swing by the infirmary and have Dr. Beckett assemble a medical team. Weir out."

"Acknowledged, Ma'am. And then the technician cut off the two way communication.

Dr. Weir gave the order to open the iris as soon as the identification came through as positive that the travelers through the gate verified as Colonel Sheppard's team.

They tumbled through, dirty and disheveled, but aside from Lt. Cadman's limping and hanging on to Dr. McKay's shoulder appeared none the worse for her.

Dr. Beckett and his medical team lugged their gear over and went to work on the various injuries Sheppard's team had sustained.

No sooner than she had stepped away from the railing she hurried, taking the steps down the floor of the gate room, two at a time. Dr. Weir went over to where the small group had gathered. "What happened?"

"We got bushwacked," Sheppard replied. "That's what happened. I'll fill you on the details later.

To Dr. Beckett he said, "Keep me posted."

Carson looked up and nodded. "Of course."

Conclusion

"Carson is going to love this." Weir shook her head and sighed.

"Um, with all due respect, Ma'am," began Richie with a slight catch in his voice. "Could we please skip the whole let's poke and prod him to see what makes him tick part?"

"What, you afraid of needles," Sheppard replied with a wry off-center grin. You just got shot by a highly concentrated energy force field, and you're worried about a few little needles?"

"No, it's just that I..." Richie trailed off a bit taken aback.

"John," Dr. Weir sighed and then made eye contact again with Richie saying: "To answer your question, young man, I would much prefer the human approach of simply asking you."

"Okay, I guess that works. It's not like I have to worry about keeping it a big secret. Back home, um, back on Earth, if that's okay to say," Richie said turning back to glance at Colonel Sheppard. "It was like this big deal, how we were supposed to keep a low profile, not tell anyone for fear that the big secret would get out and we make the pages of more than just the pulp newspapers."

"We? What do you mean by 'we?" Sheppard demanded.

"You know that whole, me being dead and coming back to life thing?" Richie asked.  
"Yeah, what about it?" Sheppard prodded, curiosity more than irritation at the roundabout manner in which his questions were getting answered prompting him to let some of frustration melt away in his eagerness to hear the full story. "Well, it was kind of a thing, no one was supposed to know about it, except those in the club and those who belonged to another type of club slash secret society whose business was to keep tabs on their subjects and record everything that happened." Richie replied reaching up to rub his eyes with the backs of his hands.

Most of the events of the past forty eight hours had passed by in a blur, and he really wished that he could go to the mess hall, find something to eat, shower and jump into bed for at least a week, not have to deal with the inevitable questions that would arise from 'revving in public.

In the back of his mind he thought, 'Damn it! When will I learn not to do that on a regular basis? It is getting really damn annoying and it's more trouble than it's worth.'

"I am getting that funny feeling that you're leaving out more of the story than you are telling us," Dr. Elizabeth Weir remarked gently. "Don't worry, Richie, you're safe here at the Atlantis base, and despite the weirdness, whatever it is that's going on with you, we'll find a way to deal with it."

Richie looked up from where he discovered that he was digging holes into the insides of his slacks' pockets with his fingernails. "You mean that?"

"Yes, and you don't have to call me Ma'am. "Weir replied and smiled. "It makes me look around and see if my mother is standing there."

"What should I call you then?" Richie asked.

"Elizabeth or if you want to be more formal, I'll settle with Dr. Weir. Okay?"

"Okay," Richie nodded. "Uh, thanks, Dr. Weir."

"You're welcome. Now, this 'club' what did you call yourselves."

"I never thought I'd end up being the one having to explain it all, up until recently I had Mac for that, or even Amanda, or Methos when he wasn't being such a smug, self-satisfied, beer-guzzling wise guy."

"Other members of the club."

"Yeah. Richie nodded taking his hands out of his pockets and laying them flat on the surface of the table. "Well, as you've said, weirdness comes in all shapes and sizes, so even if I end up regretting this, I guess you deserve to know."

"Go on," Weir prompted.

"We're called Immortals, and the people who observe and record, but hardly, well almost never interfere, course that's more a rule than a law carved in stone, are called the Watchers"  
Sheppard gulped and then abruptly leaned forward in his chair making the seat scrap along the metal floor of the conference room, and Dr. Weir frown a bit in annoyance.

"You mean to tell me that you're immortal?" In the back of his mind Sheppard thought, 'Now there's a useful power. How do you get it? And where do I sign up for it? It could come in handy the next time I get myself blown up, shot at it, or otherwise placed in deadly danger."

"Well, yes," Richie stammered, momentarily alarmed by the taller man's angry look on his face in such close proximity to his own. "It's a hard line to sell at first, but you get used to it after a while."

"Lovely, just lovely," Dr. Weir muttered, turning to look at Sheppard she snapped.  
"John, sit back down!"

"Why? I was going to test the theory," Sheppard mildly replied, twirling the knife in his fingers that he had taken out of one of the many pockets in his uniform flak jacket.

"I missed out on the 'light show,' John continued in that lazy, nonchalant tone of voice that let both Elizabeth and Richie know that was only half-serious about going through with previously stated intent.

"Relax, you are off the hook, Mr. Ryan." Dr. Weir sighed and then said. "I may regret this decision, but until further notice you are assigned to Colonel Sheppard's team."

"Trying to keep secrets on this base is rather tricky, Elizabeth," John added as he sheathed his knife leaned forward and laid his hands flat on the table. "But we will all do our best, right, kiddo?"

"Yes, Sir, and don't call me 'kiddo,' Richie replied.


	4. Hurt Hawks

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 belongs to MGM Productions, Gekko Film Corp, as do all the characters. Highlander belongs to Panzer/Davis Productions.

The title was inspired by the Robinson Jeffers poem by the same name. The story picks up shortly after where the previous one "Devil Hedges His Bets" left off. References events from the 2nd season of Stargate and references events from the 5th Season of Highlander: the Series.

Sateda, present day

"Hurt Hawks" by Karen

When it rains it pours and never has that old adage been more apt than now. He does not know how he came to arrive in this unfamiliar place, and this point it really does no matter all that much. If the slowly fading aftershock of explosions in the distance is any indication, whereabouts are soon going to be the least of his concerns.

Standing up in the midst of a pile of rubble and the remains of what was once a well-furnished house the dark-haired well-built man squared his wide and muscular shoulders and took stock of his situation.

He was no stranger to being knocked unconscious in one place and waking up in a completely different one, but if that was the case, then where the guards, the threats, then?

Duncan MacLeod attempted to move around disturbing the pile of rubble that he had been lying on prior to regaining coconsciousness in this unfamiliar place.

Incredibly stiff he made a brief attempt to get the kinks out of his muscles and then began checking all the available exits and entrances. To the northeast he again heard a high-pitched whine and throbbing and the sounds of booted footsteps on packed ground.

"Hello!" Is anyone there!"

While waiting for a response he almost instinctively checked if his sword was still in its sheath strapped to his back. Reassured on that score Duncan continued his  
reconnaissance, finding nothing else of use in the abandoned dwelling Duncan decided to go outside begin to search.

He needed much more information with which to work and one empty house was not enough evidence to draw a concrete conclusion but it was obvious that something terribly wrong had occurred her to draw away the inhabitants.

In his very long life Duncan had become more than familiar with the many reasons why a town, or a village, or even an entire city would be forced to evacuate.

And if what he had seen thus far then the extensive and wide spread destruction had been caused by more than the effects of a natural disaster; perhaps it had been famine, or disease…."

Duncan thoughts ran through the gamut of all the reasons for this kind of mass evacuation, and in the back of his mind his own memories of other such scenes played out before his mind's eye. Images and memories from his past crowded out the immediate danger.

It was only when a high-pitched whine, still distant but closely in on his position brought him back to the present that he crossed the space to the door and then stepped out of the door and into the eerily lit twilight.

"A war happened here," muttered Duncan glancing all around and wondering what his next move should be. It was at that moment that he realized that if a war had been fought here, no matter how long ago, there should be more than an empty silence of the wind blowing through the crevices and empty windows of the houses.

However, there was hardly any life stirring, no animals, no bird; nothing. But Duncan had not survived as long as he had throughout the centuries to let down his guard. He had distinctly heard that explosion and those booted footsteps; those were certainly not figments of his imagination.

High above where one man labored in ignorance hovered a deadly ship whose occupants were only slightly more deadly than their vessel.

The Wraith did not miss much when it came to their own private hunting territory and the ship burning through the outer atmosphere of world of Sateda could hardly escape their attention or fail to peak their interest. Tracking it from high orbit above the planet's surface they realized that there was only one humanoid life-sign aboard the damaged ship and its engines were failing and it would soon fall into the planet's gravity field.

If the ship survived reentry, which was unlikely, it hardly mattered. It's occupant, however, was a different story. Yes, it was only one male humanoid, but they had time to kill.

With a brisk nod; the decision was made to send only a half-size hunting party after the ship's occupant.

The hunting party had then beamed down the surface of the planet and began to fan out, weapons at the ready. The target was a human male, age approximately in his late 40's although it was difficult to tell for certain due to some kind of unidentified electro magnetic field that had been interfering with their sensors from the moment they had locked on to the derelict space craft. Not that they cared all that much: one target was much like another in the end.

After all, as far as the Wraith was concerned they were three classifications of human or humanoids if you preferred: the living, the hunted, and the soon to be dead. Some they simply killed, others they hunted.

With minimal instructions delivered in the clipped, uninflected tones the leader of the hunting party began to move adopting a long-limbed pace much akin to that a of a predator better suited to the dry and open steppes of Africa; it ate up kilometers quickly and efficiently and it carried very little sound to any would be prey in the immediate area.

Duncan MacLeod had been through several revolutions that had taken place in three continents in his just over five centuries and had seen disasters and war aplenty, some more recent than others, but he would truthfully admit that he had never seen anything like the pallid fish-belly complexioned beings that had cornered him approximately two miles east of the deserted village. To his immediate left were long undulating grassy plains and much farther in the distance were the first of a series of what he had taken to be mountains.

"Who, or rather, what the hell are you?" demanded Duncan.

"You do not know?" inquired the apparent leader.

"If did, I wouldn't have to ask, now would I?"

"We are Wraith; you are prey."

"I like your math," replied Duncan in a clipped tone of voice. "The only problem with it is that according to my calculations one and two in this case does not add up to two."

"It wishes to fight back.

"Damn it"! Duncan said, at last his patience with the entire crazy situation in general fraying apart and his patience with being regarded as nothing more than prey fraying apart at the seams.

As he had told these self-proclaimed Wraith, the math was exceedingly simple. He could continued to run, or he could stand and fight. Under the circumstances; it was open country for as far as the eye could see, he had already been trying outmaneuver the pursuit for the better part of two, or was it three days now, and there were only half a dozen of them. Sure, they had him outnumbered and outgunned, but never let it be said that Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod went out without a fight.

"  
"Come on, then!" Duncan challenged and coaxed them on, wondering if they would simply allow the leader to have first crack at the prey, or if they would charge him enmasse like a pack of starving wolves. While he was considering that Duncan reached over and across his back shoulders for the sword that he wore strapped there. If he was going to stand any chance at all he needed to whittle down their numbers and he needed to get rid of those energy guns, whatever they were.

As he shook his head to clear it of the inevitable cobwebs and the weariness, forcing himself to focus his concentration on the task at hand; Duncan did have to wonder if this entire confrontation was not something he had dreamed up in his subconscious. Another thought surfaced up: His one-time best friend and protégé Richie Ryan would be having a field day with this. That is, if he were still alive. For instance, what do I should I make of pale-skinned ghouls hunting down people in the middle of a barren wasteland toting around laser guns?'

The answer, if there were one, was not immediately forthcoming and Duncan pushed it down and shoved it into a back corner of his mind.

He had been correct in his assumption that they would come for him enmasse forcing him to make almost constant turns with his sword held out in front of him in order to keep them at bay. He had never fought any one armed with laser weapons before and the few times that he miscalculated or took a misstep the blazing trail of fiery heat energy singed his skin and tore even more tears in his flesh and clothing that had already seen much abuse.

Duncan staggered back to his feet, unsteady and a bit dizzy using his grip on the hilt of his sword to keep his balance. In the time he had spent fighting, he could no longer keep track of the passage of time; he had managed to whittle down the half a dozen to three.

Standing less than one meter from where he was in the process of pulling himself out of a ditch the leader waited for him to regain his feet and resume the fight. "Tell me something, human,' he hissed.

Duncan did not immediately reply as he staggered to his feet and yanked his sword out of the damp grassy ground. "I'm not dead yet."

"Yes, I noticed. I find it curious why anyone would chose to fight rather than submit to the inevitable, and why you should chose to do so, in any case, with such, such, a primitive weapon."

"It's my life," retorted Duncan sullenly.

"Yes, and under the circumstances I am surprises that you are still alive."

"I would like to keep it that way," said Duncan.

"It can be arranged," replied the Wraith leader, "But I warn you know, that you will not much like it," then he cocked his head as if thinking something through. "Then again, if Yandro is correct in his initial assumptions of you; you might come to like it. Very much."

The sneer on the other face was a twisted wriggly thing. Duncan, not for the first time since he had arrived on this world, wondered what the hell he had gotten himself into, and maybe, just maybe he would better discover the rules of this 'brave new world, before they ended up costing him his head and with it his very existence.

Scene 4  
ADD DIALOGUE

Evening at the Pegasus Base

"Thank you all for coming at such short notice," began Dr. Elizabeth Weir. "I am sorry that I had to pull you away from more urgent business."

"Well, I can only speak to my own experience, but unless I am given unlimited access to the lab I very much doubt that I can successfully replicate enough quantities of the ATA gene in order to cover out entire population," said Rodney McKay with a sniff as he took his customary place around the table.

"Can it, Rodney," whispered Sheppard in an soft but warning undertone.

Seated next to him Dr. Carson Beckett nudged Rodney with an elbow.

"Go on, lass," added Beckett

Teyla and Ronon seated down that table at the other end both nodded.

"Thank you, as I was saying, Dr. Zelenka has just informed me that they have just completed running initial tests on what they believe is another Ancient weapon. If they are correct, and I have no reason to doubt them, it might help find an alternative power force so we don't have to rely so heavily on the ZPMS."

"I can get it to work," Rodney replied.

""The Ancients couldn't get it to work. What makes you think that you can?," remarked Sheppard.

Seated at his place at the long narrow conference table Richie Ryan, feeling uncomfortable and yet completely confident of his own permanent place among all of these forceful people squirmed in his seat and glanced at Ronon Dex; who had taken him under his wing.

"Look, I don't know about the rest of you. But I've been over and over those initial calculations so many times that I could recite them in my sleep. Nothing is going to go wrong," exclaimed Rodney nearly falling out of his chair in the mid exclamation.

"May I remind you, Rodney, that there is a fine line between over confidence and actual ability. Face it, this just might be one of those times," she replied.

"I …."Rodney began and then trailed off as Ronon's very large hand clamped over his mouth. "Shut up or I will find a way to do it for you."

"Ronon," interrupted Teyla in her quiet but persuasive manner. "That will not be necessary.

Richie was listening to the interchange with the utmost concentration but with the suddenness of a sucker punch to the midsection he felt the unmistakable crinkling sensation of the sensation know among Immortals as the Buzz; which was very strange and unsettling mainly because in the last year or so he had been the only Immortal on the base.

As he swooned and his twitching and squirming around in his chair drew the attention of Dr. Beckett: in his mind's eye he could not escape the flashing images of his former friend and mentor,. Duncan MacLeod in danger. And not just the usual run of the mill kind of danger: but face to face with the Wraith.

He shook his head to clear it of the inevitable cobwebs as the images and the tingling sensation that had definitely lodged somewhere in his lower back gradually subsided, he shook off Dr. Beckett's firm grasp but he could not so easily shake off the worried look in the doctor's dark eyes. "What ails ye, lad?" asked the older man.

"Is the kid all right," asked Ronon.

"Is he technically still a kid," asked Rodney unhelpfully. "I mean, he is Immortal after all."

"Shut up, Rodney," replied Beckett.

"I….I'm not sure how to explain this. But for an split second there. I could have sworn that felt as if were standing right next to my old friend, Duncan MacLeod. And, as weird and as crazy as thoughts, and believe it's pretty crazy. He was standing right there, as plain as I can see all of you right now."

"What did he want," asked Teyla wondering if Richie's unique physiology might actually have something similar in nature to her own genetic ability to sometimes sense the presence of the Wraith's approach. The others might consider such things nothing more than the byproducts of an over-active imagination.

"He was there." Richie said although if pressed he most likely could not have explained in any kind of coherent fashion exactly why he felt so strongly about this.

"All right," Elizabeth Weir remarked as she finger-combed the worst of the snarls from her hair. "For the sake of argument, what did he want?"

"He was asking for my help," replied Richie with a gulp and his voice breaking a little on the last syllable of the last word.

"The Wraith could be anywhere by now," added Beckett as he checked Richie as best he could by touch and looks; the initial concern having faded away, but the line that creased his brow told him that he was still very much concerned.

Richie glanced at Teyla and Ronon and wondered if what he was about to say would only confirm for them that he was crazy or cement his own doubts that was crazy. "Sateda. He's on Sateda."

"That is impossible," remarked Teyla. "Sateda has been deserted.

"I should know that for a fact," interrupted Ronon Dex. "Better than anyone else in this room. If the kid says his old friend is on Sateda." He paused and exchanged significant glances with all of the others gathered around the table. "I say we check it out."

"Ronon?" Richie said, surprised and a bit overwhelmed by Ronon's show of support.

"All right," Dr. Weir remarked, "Enough, Richie. Enough. "I'll agree to send a small unit under the command of Colonel Sheppard

***  
Sateda, present day

A puddle jumper landed within a half an hour's walk from the coordinates that a life sign reading had been shown on their initial scan of the planet. Ronon Dex was apprehensive and a bit curious. His world had been evacuated upon reports that the Wraith were about to cull his planet; those who had not been evacuated in time or chose to remain should all be long dead by this time or harvested; the likelihood of any survivors on the planet at this late date was slim to none, or to borrow one of Colonel Sheppard's Old Earth phrases: about as likely as a snowball's chance in Hell.

So, as much as he wanted to believe that one of his people had survived, as much as he begun to trust Richie Ryan's instincts, this mission very well could turn out to be a junket.

**  
A mere sliver of a blade was all that separated Duncan MacLeod from either certain death or if the implications in the Wraith's leader's threat were realized a fate worse than death. At this point Duncan was not exactly certain which was worse. It was then that a piercing shrill shattered the unnatural stillness of the fall air on the grasslands.

A company of half a dozen uniformed and armed strangers approached and a man with short-cropped brown hair cut in military fashion knocked aside the deadly clutch of Duncan MacLeod's Wraith attacker.

"Nobody said that you could use this planet as your own private hunting preserve," said the brown-haired man. "From this moment on, Sateda is hereby off-limits to the Wraith."

The Wraith leader so addressed merely blinked and barred his teeth an a venomous snarl.  
"Colonel John Sheppard, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

"Oh, I think you know," the man addressed Colonel Sheppard replied with a shrug. "And it's Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard to you, Mister."

"Mac!" cried Richie as he broke from the line and began to run toward where MacLeod lay gasping for air and attempting to reconcile this apparent last minute eleventh hour rescue. It might have been the light-headiness from the numerous wounds he had sustained or something else because he could have sworn despite the strange uniform, the military-style haircut and an solid confidence he had never truly seen before in the young man who had grasped him around his shoulders and begun to lift him to his feet; this was Richie Ryan who stood before him.

"Richie?," asked Duncan uncertainly and in a hoarse whisper. "Is it really you?"

"Yeah, Mac," Richie replied that devil-may-care off center grin firmly plastered on his face. "It's me. Never thought you'd see me again, did you?"

"Never in a million years."

A tall man with dread locks that MacLeod most definitely would never have classified as military ambled over and helped Richie carry MacLeod out of harms way. "Let me help you with him. Or we'll need to rig up a stretcher sooner or later."

A day or two later

"Sheppard," said Richie, "Thanks for backing me up on this. I guess the others all thought I was crazy."

"Not crazy, or well, not any crazier than anyone else around here. Sometimes I really do think that we ought to be receiving hazard pay on top of our regular salaries."

"That's something you gotta take up with the brass," replied Richie.

"Don't think I haven't tried," replied Sheppard. "Hey, Ryan, before I go, tell me something, this 'hunch' of yours it was more than a hunch. You guys got some kind of 'connection' or something. A deal that Immortals share, am I right?"

"He knows about us?" whispered MacLeod more nervously than would dare admit. There was so much about this 'brave new world' that he did know or understand.

"Mac, take it easy. It was kind hard not tell them and a lot of it they figured out on their own," Richie said with a sigh.

"Yeah, but it works both ways. Back on Earth you had to be at least in each other's immediate area for it, we call it the "Buzz.", to be felt at all."

"Richie, is it possible that you can satisfy Major Sheppard's curiosity at some later date," asked Macleod.

"Sure, sure, not a problem," replied Sheppard. "Besides, no doubt you two have a lot of catching up to do," remarked Sheppard as turned the corner. "Ryan, call me or Teyla if you need anything. " With that he left Richie's quarters and backed out the door into the hallway beyond.

***  
Conclusion

Duncan MacLeod was grateful to Colonel John Sheppard for allowing him an opportunity to as Sheppard 'catch up with his former student and friend, Richie Ryan, but there was so much left unresolved between them that Duncan MacLeod was not entirely certain that he was prepared for this moment. What would he say? How would Richie react? Would they have to fight, and if they did, would it come down to more than mere words?

"Richie!" MacLeod exclaimed almost but not quite able to believe the evidence of his own eyes. "You were, I thought … I killed….." he trailed off into an awkward and uncomfortable silence.

"You," Richie grinned. "At a loss for words. Never thought I'd live to see the day."

"There's the key word. How is it even possible?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it," continued Richie in a quieter and more subdued tone. "Mac, now that we've got a moment alone like this, I have to tell ya," he paused and reached up to finger comb the worst of the snarls out of his hear and then stopped before adding. "I don't mind telling you this, back at the track when I saw you coming at me….I really thought it was the end you know what I mean?"

"We don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to," hedged Duncan in an equally subdued tone.

"I want to. I mean, talk about it," whispered Richie. "It's complicated. But somehow, that bright white light that you hear everyone talk about in new age journals and what not going about near death experiences; I saw it."

"Let us say, that I am familiar with the concept," replied Duncan.

"Yeah, well. I guess common wisdom would say not to go into the white light, but then you know me?" Richie grinned and suddenly that oh so familiar devil-may-care grin was back and firmly plastered on his face creasing the lines around his mouth and eyes.

"As long as I've known you've never been one to follow conventional wisdom or common sense, why start now?" Duncan returned the grin and with that some but not all of the tenseness and the guilt of Richie's death at his hands that he had been carrying around for so long that he could barely keep track of how one day blended into another began to slowly seep away.

Richie began to laugh and laugh. "I couldn't have said it better myself. Say, you wouldn't happen to have any of that Scottish brandy, would you?"

"No I kind left in a hurry, and forget to pack some. If I had known you had taken a fancy to the stuff…" Duncan trailed off once more.

Richie waved a hand and managed to stop laughing long enough to lean back in his chair in the quarters he had been assigned on the base. "Never mind, Mac. I was just kidding. But I think I know where I can get some. It'll be like old times again."

"Where?"

"Dr. Carson Beckett. You met him. He keeps a stash in one of the cabinets in his infirmary."

"For medicinal purposes, no doubt?" MacLeod said with a grin.

"That, and for special occasions, " replied Richie

"I would say that this 'reunion' qualifies as a special occasion."

Continued in Chapter 5: Last Night on a Dying Earth #53 earth


	5. Last Night on a Dying Earth

Disclaimer: Highlander: the Series and the characters that appear here or are mentioned belong to Panzer/Davis etc and are only 'borrowed' for the purposes of the story. Stargate Atlantis belongs to Gekko Film Corp. Renaissance Pictures, etc as do all of the characters who appear here or are mentioned. The story references events from the 2nd season episode of SG: Atlantis Aurora and briefly, the first Stargate movie.  
Note: written for the crossovers100 prompt #53 earth, and is part 5 of a series that began with "Strangers in Paradise." and picks up with a short hiatus taken into consideration after "Hurt Hawks". (or how Methos arrived in the Pegasus Galaxy")

"Last Night on a Dying Earth" by Karen

Just because one was in the habit of hiding in plain sight did not necessarily preclude the need to remain informed on events happening in the wider world.

While the fact remained that the man known to the general public as Adam Pierson, and to a much narrower number as people as Methos normally adopted the blase', sarcastic and world-weary attitude of man who had seen, done, and far too much in his extraordinary long life to give much of a damn of how the world and what made in spin.

However survival also required to at least remain up to date on current events.

The sudden disappearance of Duncan Macleod and his protege had had the Watchers in a tizzy.

Methos was no stranger to sudden fade outs and at first, figured that it was just another case of things becoming too hot or too dangerous in MacLeod's adopted stomping grounds of Seacouver, Washington and required a return to Paris.

However he could not rid himself of the nagging feeling of an impending disaster; a feeling akin to a sudden freak storm, the kind that sputtered out of a clear blue sky in the middle of high summer and raged briefly but spectacularly and then died out; made his nerve endings tingle.

He had approached Joe Dawson, who, as usual, had been evasive as to both MacLeod and Richie Ryan's whereabouts.

From there, he went on to the contacts that he had obtain, mostly legitimately during his tenure as a research assistant.

His inquiries turned up a bunch of tantalizing clues, but on the whole, he eventually determined that he had to go elsewhere when he received an unmarked manila envelope from an old acquaintance that he had sometimes corresponded when the latter required his talents in the field of linguistics.

Opening it almost immediately, it too him a while longer to digest its contents.

Methos did not immediately recognize the cryptic markings in the margins of the sheaf of papers inside of the envelope, he did however, recognize the hand-written commentary of his colleague in the field of ancient and modern linguistics, Dr. Daniel Jackson.

It had been a very long time, not since the young man had been a brilliant and promising graduate student with a specialty in Egyptian and Sumerian, and gods only knew what else.

However, Methos did not believe it was a coincidence that Dr. Jackson had also seemingly disappeared off the map, although, granted, neither man had done much to maintain contact with each other.

Something was up.. Something big. The only problem was that that nebulous BIG Something was too damn nebulous and it defied his ability to define; he hated that.

Methos hated, being left out in the dark, and soon after got onto a computer in coffee bar he frequented that was equipped with an internet connection and used it to confirm that the symbols confirmed to a series of other recognizably Egyptian cuneiforms that activists, and international news media had been going on about.

In the past five centuries Methods had been around to those who prophesied the end of the world, and most of the times their fears had served to either irritate, amuse, or simply get in the way of other more important endeavors.

Methos knew that this time, this time, he simply could not afford to ignore the warning signs.

He had made of one of considered decisions, whether or not he could reach Dr. Jackson, to confirm his half-formed suspicions, one thing was certain an event of monumental proportions was about to happen, and when it he would be around to either do something about it, or find a way to survive. He always had, and somehow, he always would.

*  
The dune-buggy he had rented came with a supply-kit and a mask to protect his face along with an assortment of other emergency equipment the clerk at the supply depot figured he might need. There had been mixture of both a bored and a curious look in the fellow s eyes when Methos had complete filling out the requisition form and logged his route; however the man did not comment and Methos left.

He had not done more than ten miles before the wind whipped a furious dust storm and had been forced to stop and wind the face clothes around his nose and mouth and adjust the fit of the goggles on his head.

Buried somewhere in the sands of Nevada, far enough but too close for comfort the United States military test sites dating back to the early days of experimental fission He had buried a ship, a ship whose exterior and interior markings bore an uncanny resemblance to those found in the contents of the letter from his old friend.

Hunkering down inside of his rented dune-buggy, waiting out the sandstorm, his mind drifted back to another time when had been both a part of a military operation and had been witness to the discovery of another artifact bearing Egyptian hieroglyphics.

*  
Flashback The Valley of the Kings, Giza, Egypt 1944

The man who called himself Adam Pierson, although that was not his true name, stood at the base of a tall hill, one of many which encircled a series of hills their shade bringing a welcome relief from the blazing sun, but their shade could only blunt but not completely the stifling heat. He could feel the sweat on his back and making his loose shirt stick to his skin. Professor Caroline Langford, whom he had been working under as a graduate research assistant tapped him on the shoulder and said:

"See, I told you all of our hard work would pay off."

"You did, indeed", he replied.

The heat, discomfort and the need to dissemble all fell away from in one of those silent, perfectly captured instant when stands in front of something impossible to believe in, but there it is, impossible to ignored that it s real, but one could hardly doubt the evidence of one s own eyes. A massive circular gate made of metal and stone, the mixture impossible to readily identify without closer inspection, with both an outer and inner rings.

"Any idea on the dimensions of that thing?" he asked.

She nodded and replied: "Mind yo, it's just a guess, but the gate appears to be about 2-3 meters thick if you were to look at it sideways. From what we can see from our current vantage point is the gate is about 5-6 feet "wide." The inner track looks to be about 2-3 feet "wide." The gate itself takes up the remainder. Since there are seven chevrons, space them evenly along the circumference of the gate," Langford said.

"Are you certain it's a gateway?" a nearby soldier asked.

"As certain as I can be," she replied.

"If so, do you think it is still functional?" he asked.

"The Egyptians always did have a reputation as mighty builders," another soldier remarked.

Langford glared at him. "In my not-so humble opinion the Egyptians did not build that thing, as Dr. Jackson would agree with him. That thing as you so quaintly refer to it, was not built with any human hands."

Methos was momentarily shocked by such a bold and controversial statement coming from Dr. Langford, but then realized with a suddenness that hit him with the force of a sucker punch to the gut, that not only did he believe her, but that it would change everything they knew and believed but the ancient Egyptian culture.

*  
Present day

The sandstorm came and went, scrapping raw both the face of the land and the skin of his face and hands, even through his protective covering. Kicking his vehicle back into gear, which sputtered and finally started up again, Methos went on his way. The ship was right were had buried it, and much to both his surprise and relief, it still functioned.

*  
Meanwhile in the Pegasus Galaxy

The Atlantis's deep-space sensors detect the Aurora, an ancient Atlantian warship at the edge of the galaxy, Sheppard's team wastes no time hitching a ride to it aboard the Daedalus.

Upon their arrival, they encounter a Wraith scout ship. They destroy the scout before it can cause trouble or so they hope.

"We'll split up, Teyla, Ronon, and Ryan in one group, McKay, MacLeod with me. We ll cover more ground that way."

Teyla nodded and replied. "Agreed."

*  
Taking his attention from where Rodney McKay labored at the array of control consoles and other instruments Sheppard tapped grabbed his radio and spoke into it: Roger that, Teyla, we ll be there as soon as I can. Keep searching, and keep me posted.

"Sheppard," McKay announcedhis voice slightly ragged, "I think I've found something that will enable us to communicate with them, and it would appear that all of their stasis pods are linked via a neural interface. Ingenious really, because I don t believe that they ll survive the defrosting process if we took them out of stasis prematurely."

"What does that mean?" Sheppard asked, waiting patiently for McKay s usual long-winded explanations laced with his customary smugness. The man was brilliant, yes, but as had happened on more than one occasion, he did not take much pains to let everyone else know just how brilliant he really was. It was an annoying habit, but Sheppard was willing to overlook it to the point where it interfered or endangered the mission or his team.

"Is there any way I can talk to these folk? Find out where they're from or what went wrong?" Sheppard asked

"I suppose I can put you in one of these and link up with the interface, but I can t guarantee that it would be very safe, or..." Rodney trailed off.

"Belay that, Rodney" "If they really are ancients or even their descendants, anything we can learn from them we should take full advantage of it."

Rodney shook his head, but whether it was in negation of what Colonel Sheppard proposed or at something else entirely Duncan MacLeod who had been ordered to stand guard at the entrance they had used to gain access to this chamber, was impossible for him to tell for certain. "If I might venture to say, Sir. I would have to agree with Dr. McKay. It might be dangerous."

"Thank you for concern, Mr. MacLeod, but as I've already told Rodney here, I have considered the risks and potential gains, and I find the risks acceptable."

Sheppard entered an empty stasis pod while he waited for McKay to connect him to the interface. ***

Once inside of the neural interface, kind of like a virtual reality; Sheppard immediately finds himself aboard a fully powered Aurora.

To his surprise, the Atlantians there treat him like an intruder and toss him in the brig.

The Aurora's captain is intrigued by Sheppard's story, but doesn't remember entering a stasis pod, and he does not believe that his world is a computerized fiction, and certainly isn't convinced that 10,000 years have passed.

Instead, he and his single-minded first officer apparently believe that they're still in their own time. They're racing to upgrade their ship's hyper drive engines so they can reach Atlantis quickly and deliver vital intelligence about a critical weakness in the Wraith's defenses.

*  
Meanwhile back in real-time aboard the Dadeleaus Colonel Steven Caldwell had concerns of his own.

"Sir, his communications officer said. We have got a bogey coming up fast on the long-range sensors and its moving at a good clip directly for our present position."

"Wraith?" he asked.

"Affirmative, Sir."

"Shields at maximum. Contact Sheppard s team, Tell them to be ready for beam-out at a moment's notice," Caldwell ordered.

"Aye, Sir," the man replied.

*  
Several hours later.

Teyla and Ronon and Richie came stumbling into the control room where McKay had just finished extricating John Sheppard from the ship s neural interface.

"What's going on, Teyla?" Sheppard asked.

"It would appear that this shi's crew was not completely comprised of Atlantians, it was during our search of the the ship we found.." Ronon Dex began before Teyla nudged him with her left elbow.

"You are taking to long to apprise him of the situation, Ronon,: Teyla interrupted. "I am sorry, but time is of the essence."

"We discovered a Wraith in another of the stasis pod chambers," Teyla announced.

"Alive?" Sheppard snapped.

"Very much so," Ronon agreed.

Richie looked up. "Teyla's right. I know I haven't been with the team for very long. But I would rather not have another run-in with those guys any time soon if we can help avoid it."

Sheppard nodded at the young man and replied. "Has Caldwell checked in yet?"

Teyla nodded and using the radio-linkage raised Caldwell aboard the Dadelous, after several moments had elapsed she looked up and look of both anger and fear and steady resolve etched on her features.

"It would seem, Richie, that your wish is not to be granted this day. According to Colonel Caldwell, it would seem that several Wraith ships on enroute even as we speak. He has given orders for our team to be prepared for an immediate beam-out."

"Tell, him, we ll be standing by."

At that very moment from the far side of the control room a tall lean man whose face and skin seemed to have been scored by wind, rain and sun, staggered in. It face of man who would not have stood out in crowd; who, chameleon-like could have found a way to blend in, adapt himself to any environment, any circumstance in which he found himself, but still both Duncan MacLeod and Richie Ryan would have recognized him just about anywhere.

"Methos!" MacLeod exclaimed.

"Well, I'll be damned! Richie whispered in an undertone.

"A friend of yours?" asked Lt. Colonel John Sheppard?

"You could say that,"Duncan MacLeod replied wryly.

"Yeah, but only when he wants to be,"Richie added.

"Okay, I m confused, which is it?" Sheppard asked.

"A little of both, mind you. It s complicated once in a while."

Duncan shook his head and strode forward the dozen or so paces to help the man they both knew as Adam Pierson: mild-mannered research assistant with the Watchers and as the 5,00 year-old Immortal Methos.

"I don't understand this any better than you do. Who knows, maybe we all slipped through the some kind of crack in the space-time continuum, right?" Methos shrugged and looked around his immediate surroundings.

"I don't mind telling you all this, but this place is beginning to give me the creeps. What say, we get the hell outta here?"

"Same old Methos," remarked Duncan and grabbed Methos into a tight embrace.

"Hey, old guy," interrupted Richie, "Not that I'm not overwhelmed with joy to see you, alive and well, but I m beginning to feel a little left out here."

Methos stepped away from MacLeod and strode over and stretched out a hand. "Yeah, nice to see you too, kid."

He gave the younger Immortal a quick apprising glance. "You're looking well, Richie. If memory serves the last time I saw you was in Paris, at night on a racetrack, about to get your head handed to you, literally. It would appear that circumstances have changed greatly since then. I am happy to see you, too."

Richie swallowed against an unaccustomed lump in his throat and replied, keeping his voice as steady as possible. "I'm glad to see you, too."

"I hate to interrupt your little uh, family reunion," Sheppard remarked. "But we're gonna have to cut it short. We should get while the getting s good. Caldwell says there s several Wraith ships en route to our location even as we speak. We need to move, now!"

"You ll get no argument from me." Both McKay and Richie replied almost simultaneously and both men chuckled.

Sheppard grimaced and shook his head, as if to clear it of the inevitable cobwebs

Conclusion

"Did they tell you, that the Earth, as we knew it, went boom?" Richie Ryan asked as he sat down in a nearby chair of his quarters.

"It would appear, then, that there is more to heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophies, Methos replied. Damn, hey MacLeod, our old friend Bryon would be proud of me, he always was a big fan of the Immortal Bard."

"SO, then the Earth that was destroyed was ours, or the world we called him, and there are any number of Earths or Earth-like planets?"

"If that's the case, Richie," Duncan MacLeod replied as he ran a hand through the dark mass of his mussed hair; it had been a very trying and long day. "I gather, from what both Dr. McKay and Dr. Radek have said, and trust me, half the time I can t figure what Rodney saying, that there is a remote possibility that once the mission is done here in the Pegasus Galaxy, we can use the Gate to return home to the Milky Way."

"And if we do not?"Methos asked.

"I don't know about you, Mac," Richie remarked as he glanced around and then cocked his head to one side as if thinking over his next words. "But, really, is it so bad living here. I was starting to get used to it, you know? Wrapping my head around the fact that we re really in another galaxy. And, I mean, I miss our friends and stuff, but oh, what the hell, you know what I mean, right?"

Duncan regarded his young friend and protege fondly and distractedly for a moment and sniffed, attempting to maintain the stern paternal air he had grown into adopting with Richie; however, there was something in what Richie had said or in what he had left unsaid that caught up at Duncan and reached over pulled the younger man into a tight hug.

Methos turned his head away, not wanting to interrupt this moment, and even his cynical nature was momentarily blunted. 'Yeah, here s to trying, rhymes with dying.'and then reached over for the bottle of whiskey that had been left forgotten on the end table by the sofa.

To be continued in chapter 6 Domesticating Ghosts


	6. Domesicating Ghosts

Disclaimer: Highlander: the Series belongs to Panzer/Davis Productions and its producers and directors. Stargate Atlantis belongs to MGM Productions, Gekko Film Corp. etc; neither belongs to me. Note: The story picks up shortly after where the previous story "Last Night on a Dying Earth" left off.

"Domesticating Ghosts" by karrenia

He had always known that there was something the various regimes of the world had kept hidden from the general public; this had been true even way back before the advent of the global society and advanced technology. Secrets within secrets, wheels within wheels, and not all of them, hell, as the oldest living immortal, he could practically be considered the poster boy of the need and reasoning for keeping secrets.

' Hell', Methos thought, "It's good tactics if not the best public relations. If I were I charge I'd be inclined to adopt a similar policy.' However, seeing the confirmation of the abstract made a concrete reality and with a sinking feeling in his gut akin to a sucker punch Methos refused to admit that he felt overwhelmed with the alien architecture and technology that surrounded him on all sides of the Atlantis base.

And on the heels of that particular thought, another one occurred to him, one that would have more immediate consequences for him personally, it had become more and more apparent that both of his fellow Immortals, Duncan MacLeod and his protégé Riche Ryan had much more familiarity and working knowledge of these systems than did.

He hated that fact most of all. Throughout the entire time of their acquaintance Methos, or in his adopted identity of mild-mannered perpetual graduate student, Adam Pierson; had been accustomed to being the one with all the answers. He had been accustomed to playing the game of one man up, and giving off the mystique of knowing more than anyone else in the room, but playing coy with those same answers.

"MacLeod is going to rib me without mercy. I know him too well. However, he is and always will be too much of a boy scout to admit to it."

"Hey, you were saying?" Richie inquired from where he stood next to Dr. Rodney McKay in the room designated the Puddle Jumper Bay.

"Never mind," Methos gruffly muttered. "So how do these things work?"

"Difficult to explain, it's best if you got strapped in and I'll explain as we go," replied Rodney.

"Can I pilot? Richie eagerly asked.

"No, I don't want to end up in the drink again."

"Hey, in my defense that only happened once and even Sheppard said I was getting better at it.. I bet even Dr. Beckett ended up in the drink once or twice!" Richie said as they all waited for the boarding hatch to open and they climbed inside.

"Yeah, but maybe so, Ryan, "Rodney tossed over his shoulder as he stepped up and into the interior of the Puddle Jumper and took a seat in the pilot's chair.

"However, I for one would not care to repeat the experience, and while I suspect that our friend here, Pierson or Methos or whatever he wants to call himself, would certainly benefit from the experience; so why don't we let him learn from his own mistakes first?"

Richie thought this over for the moment: He liked Dr. McKay and his snarky guy who thought himself smarter-than-everyone else in the room attitude, but it did make this more difficult, and finally replied: "Works for me."

"I'm sitting right here, you know?" Methos stated with a disdainful sneer curling up the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah, we know," Rodney replied. "Strap in and I'll radio for clearance for take-off."

Throughout the trip McKay could not help but notice that Methos gave off a distinct scent that reminded him of nothing so much as pine resin and beer. And his both Teyla and Sheppard had remarked it made for an unusual combination. The beer part he could understand, not that Atlantis had an unlimited supply of hard liquor at their disposal, but the man was capable of consuming a lot of it in one go.

The other off=putting thing to McKay's way of thinking, was the tree-resin smell, something that Carson had noticed as well, and had compared to the age rings that one could find on a tree; the more rings the older the tree.

In the back of his mind McKay thought," How old is this guy supposed to be anyway? Each time when he thought he could get away with staring at him, he found that disconcerting blue=eyed gaze staring back at him, unblinking like the stare of lizard. "Huh, nothing. Do you want to learn how to fly this baby, or don't you?" he testily replied.

Methos nodded, and evenly replied. "Of course, I do. But so far, you haven't let me do anything except push the ignition button."

Just at the moment and before Rodney McKay could properly formulate a sarcastic retort appropriate to the situation the entire ship shuddered around them. The gauges on both men's consoles began to fluctuate wildly and the shuddering sensation continued, this time even more pronounced than before. Rodney clenched his teeth and attempted to run an intercept course. The difficult of course being that he could not see whatever it was that was attacking them.

Methos was well aware that he'd only been trained on the basics of the Puddle Jumper's controls and parameters and given a passing grade on the simulator. With that in mind he checked the readouts as best he could, irked at the fact that he did not have the luxury of time of staring daggers at his trainer, because of the continual barrel rolls that Rodney put the ship through.

"I don't know how much more of this the ship can take," he remarked.

"If I didn't know any better, I think we've run into an electro-magnetic force-field," McKay replied through gritted teeth. "And you're right. I suspect that if we continue to fly against the current as it were, we might very well be torn apart."

"Oh, I feel so much better now," Methos griped.

"Check the long-range sensors. See if you can find us a safe place to set down," McKay instructed.

Methos did as he was asked and after a short while located a likely looking spot about 100 yards to the north of their present position.

"There," he pointed to the cross-hatching grid on the view-screen.

Interlude

The puddle jumper came to a bumpy and rolling landing, jolting both men in their seats, all to the tune of McKay's grumbling about the proper alignment of the installed shock absorbers. It was a very near thing, but after describing a barrel roll the ship eventually came to a halt at the base of over-grown granite cliff.

The automatic access port still functioned and they were able to emerge from the Puddle Jumper with some effort.

Once on they ground Rodney glared at Methos and said: "Don't even think about it."

"Oh, that old bromide that any crash that you can walk away from is a good one?"

"Can you get it flying again?"

"With the time and the proper tools, than maybe," Rodney hedged, "but time is one thing we have plenty of, the tools, not so much. This was supposed to be a routine dry run, and now it's become a search and rescue mission. Sheppard is going to have a fit!"

"How will they know to come and look for us?"

"How can you be so sanguine about this!"

"Because I can," Methos calmly replied. "Now will you answer my question, and more importantly I wonder if the natives of this planet are friendly and if so, if they have any beer."

Rodney reached up to finger-comb his fingers through the unruly thatch of his dark hair, obviously an outlet for the frustration and anger building up inside of him. "Why me! Why did I get saddled with giving you your first dry run? Why couldn't it have been Carson?"

Taking his attention off of his companion for a brief moment to regard his immediate surroundings, Methos realized that they had landed in the middle of the midst of plain of rolling hills. A line of deciduous trees of mingled species marched on either shoulder all the way to the distantly glimpsed horizon. To his immediate left was a row of standing stones, which indicated at some time there must have been people here to have built and placed those here.

Rodney left off his haranguing and stomped over to join him where he stood, there's a road,

They walked down to the distant silver ribbon that was indeed a road of sorts, although unpaved, as he took one look at the road and then another back at the disabled Puddle Jumper Rodney Mckay could not help thinking that there was something definitely wrong with this picture. Either the planet had a naturally occurring gravimetric force-field which had forced them down.

Or, the natives had erected that energy field as measure of protection for themselves. They again, if it had been well, man-made, then they might very well be in trouble.

"Does the radio still work?"

"No, don't you think I checked that first thing, before we crashed?"

"Do you have to be so testy all the time?" Methos griped. "It was a simple question."

"The first thing about electro-magnetic fields, they play havoc on electronic systems." Rodney rolled his neck in order to loosen the tight muscles that had been much abused of late and appeared completely oblivious at his companion's more barbed comments.

"So, the answer is no, then."

"Yeah, I think we should grab whatever we can carry from the ship and check this place out," he said aloud.

Methos nodded and turned around and he squeezed back inside, and Rodney followed him, finding it tighter fit, but after some time fumbling around, they eventually came out again with two back packs stuffed full of standard issue survival gear, weapons, and sundry other items.

"Let's go," he said aloud.

Then they began to walk, with long loping strides designed to eat up the miles, and by night fall they could find a place to lie up for the oncoming evening.

Methos glanced up and paused a moment to admire the prismatic effect on the night sky lit up by what could only be described as an Aurora Borealis, or the Northern Lights. It was beautiful, but with the havoc that very same energy field had played with their only means of transport, it could be both beautiful and dangerous at the same time.

Interlude

Meanwhile back at the Altantis base Sheppard met with Dr. Elizabeth Weir, concerned but not yet alarmed at Mckay and Methos' failure to report in at their scheduled check-in time.

"We still have their recorded flight plan in the computer database, should it be a simple matter to pinpoint where they fell off the grid," Sheppard said.

"Agreed, but what concerns me, "she replied, "Is what caused it to happen in the first place."

"It could be as simple a matter as Rodney forgetting to check in because he was distracted by something more interesting," he replied.

Elizabeth Weir had lived and worked with Colonel John Sheppard for almost two years now and had believed she knew his ideo syncharices as well as anyone, but that droll, confident attitude did tend to grate on her nerves every once in a while. She'd just finished negotiating a cease-fire with the Genini, and the threat of the Wraith was always around the corner. As much as she respected Rodney Mckay's brilliance and the invaluable service he could be to the Atlantis mission could she really afford to risk even more personnel on a search and rescue mission for two men?

She leaned back in her chair and stared around at conference room silent weighing the pros and cons before committing to it, then bent forward once more with her fingers laced before and locked gazes with Sheppard. "Just bring them back in one piece, John."

"Yes, Ma'am!" Sheppard saluted and flashed her one of his trade-marked confident grins.

Sheppard and his team stepped through the event horizon of the Gate, uncertain what if anything to expect on the other side. Although he would never admit to anyone, not even Teyla, even he was becoming just a little bit jumpy when it came to the uncanny ability of the Wratih to show up wherever and whenever they arrived on a planet.

He took a glance around ordering his team to fan out for a quick permiter check, with that task done,a and satisfied that there was no immediate threat, they began to march.

Several hours in they came upon the downed Puddle Jumper. Seeing as the dome of the sky was quickly going through the prismatic color change from day into night, Sheppard called a halt to the search for the night.

They would pick up the search in the morning

Encounter

"Who the hell are you talking to?" Rodney demanded.

For his part Methos did not respond right away, following the faintly luminescent trail that led deeper into the copse of trees, leaving his companion fuming and standing at the edge of the small village.

The villagers had made him welcome, but neither man had seen anything that argued on behalf that they'd been capable of creating that electro-magnetic weapon, if it was indeed a weapon of sorts.

Rodney had insisted on doing the talking, and Methos had been content to let him do so. They'd been in the village for only three days and both were getting anxious, wondering how long it would be before their absence was noticed and whether anyone would be come to extricated them from their current situation.

He had felt distinctly out-of place, and out of step with his new surroundings, new experiences and way of life in the Pegasus Galaxy. And while he'd much prefer to be alive rather than blown to his component atoms, there was so much to assimilate here.

In the back of his mind Methos he wondered if allowing a compelling but disembodied force into the dark woods at midnight was a bone-headed thing to do. Not that long ago he and Joe Dawson had been instrumental in helping Duncan MacLeod overcome the considerable physical and physiological effects of a Dark Quickening.

Yet even as that particular thought crossed his mind he wondered what would happen if they had not been completely successful in that regard.

Images flickered at the edges of his vision, and suddenly he was engulfed in a fog bank as thick as any he had ever encountered. Walking deeper and deeper into the interior of the forest Methos could not help but feel that he was no longer the master of his own mind. He turned his head, the movement as slow and cumbersome as if it weighed a great deal more than it actually did.

Voices whispered, just on the edge of dissonance and comprehension, and his fingers twitched and he suddenly felt an almost overwhelming urge to turn on his heels and get the hell out of this eerie forest.

Even as thought crossed his mind Methos reached down to feel the outline of his sword concealed under his jacket. He had discarded his back pack somewhere along the path, too.

Invisbile fingers tugged at his sleeves and hem of his jacket

Out of the mist figures appeared, some he recognized, some he did not, there were his old companions from his days of the Four Horsemen, some more recent, but all wore various expressions varying from rage, sardonic humor, grief, and others harder to read. It was only when they rushed forward and began to attack him did Methos whip out his sword and begin to press his own attack.

Rodney, against his better judgment followed a good distance behind, wondering if there was another force at work here that made otherwise reasonably sane people act like total morons. Because anyone in their right mind would not voluntarily go wandering into the woods at night. Even the natives knew better than that, they had claimed that the woods were haunted, the abode of ghosts and other things that went bump in the night. Of course, as a man of science Rodney Mckay did not believe in the supernatural, but that did not mean that something was lurking in there. "

"Damn it! Methos, were the hell are you! Why won't you answer me?"

He stumbled through and over a giant downed tree and into a glade, its dimensions half-hidden by the triangles of falling sunlight gleaming down at right angles through breaks in the forest roof. He opened his eyes even wider to watch as his companion, sweating and wild-haired flailed at shadows with a drawn sword. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The muscles of Methos' neck were stretched taut as if he were straining against an invisible obstacle and his body was locked in a tight upright position, that the merest shove would knock him off balance and down to the thick ground cover. Without thinking it over too much Rodney McKay rushed forward and shoved.

The other man crumpled to the ground with a groan. "I need beer, and lots of it."

"They have some kind of liquor in the village, but I wouldn't exactly call it a decent beer, if you think you really need it."

Methos rolled over where he lay on the ground and stared up at McKay. "As long as it's drinkable, I don't care what it tastes like. Help me up."

Rodney bent over and extended a hand. "You're welcome," he muttered under his breath.

"What happened here?"

"Something weird," Methos replied as he glanced around the brightening clearing. "Even for me".

Conclusion

"You know, it has occurred to me that," Radek Zelenka said, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands, "after reading their after mission-report that with time and some modifications that the electro-magnetic field that brought you down is a remnant of a much older civilization."

"Ancient technology?" Sheppard asked.

"Not quite that old, but much older than anything we've encountered anywhere else except the city, of course."

"Ancients? Methos echoed. This was the first time anyone had inferred that the alien technology that everyone here seemed to take for granted had an other-worldly source. He definitely needed to learn more, but he also felt that now was not the time to press his point.

"Then how do you explain, uh the vision quest that Methos here described?" Rodney demanded.

"I can't. Not as yet," Zelenka.

"It might help if he had allowed me to question him further on the nature of those visions," Dr. Carson Beckkett quietly remarked.

Methos shrugged and said, I can't explain, other than it was well, as they used to say in the 70's, it was trippy, dude."

"Good luck with that!" Richie Ryan remarked in an aside comment to Teyla, "He's never been, shall we say, forthcoming about anything."

"That could present a problem, moving forward," Teyla replied.

"Would all of you give me a damn break!" Methos exclaimed. "I experienced something on that moth-ball of a planet that damn near drove me out of my skin, and I can't explain any more than it felt like a fever-dream combined with an out-of-body experience! What more do what from me!"

Sheppard raised a single eye-brow and said. "Maybe a little more cooperation."

"Damn it. I need beer, and lots of it."


	7. Been a Long Time Dry

Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis belongs to MGM Productions, Gekko Film Corp. etc. It is not mine. Highlander: the Series belongs to Panzer/Davis Productions etc. It is also not mine.

Note: This story picks up shortly after where "Domesciating Ghosts" left off. It was also written and posted for the Live Journal community crossovers100. prompt #60 drink

"Been a Long Time Dry" by karrenia

John Sheppard, while no stranger to strong liquor, had never seen anyone imbibe quite at the frequency and rapidity as Methos. The man was skinny but sinewy and given what he had seen thus far, played on that face-in-the crowd seemingly harmless every-day man fa ade more often than he had a right to own to.

Fascinated and disgusted he watched as the six-pack beer was opened, drained, and disposed of with a speed that was almost frightening; and yet the man showed no signs of even being a bit intoxicated.

"Does he even get drunk?" Sheppard demanded of the man sitting beside at the mess hall table.

Duncan Macleod shook his head and finished his one and only can of beer and then plunked it down on the table with a tinny sounding thud. "I can t be entirely certain, with him its half guess and half knowing and we ve not quite worked the exact percentage. He s a quiet, maudlin drunk would be a fair approximation."

"Hope I m not inconveniencing anyone!" Methos griped looking around for another six-pack and signing in resignation when now was ready to hand.

Meanwhile Ronon Dex sat with his arms folded over his chest and when he saw a conversational opening demanded. "Now, that you, are, shall we say, sufficiently recovered from your ordeal, would you mind explaining what happened during your, uh, out-of-body, experience?"

"Yes, I would mind", Methos retorted, "And I don t expect small-minded Neathandrals like you to even begin to understand what an out-of-body experience is let alone what it felt like to experience one!"

"Watch your tongue, little man!" Ronon said in a quiet but unmistakably menacing tone of voice.

"Or you ll cut it out?" Methos replied leaning forward from where he sat at the table and locking gazes with the big man.

"Gentlemen," Sheppard intervened, "Now, now, we're all friends here. There s no reason to resort to violence." He stood up and was tensed and ready to leap to prevent bloodshed at a moment s notice.

Duncan sighed. "He doesn't mean it. It's just his way of launching the equivalent of conversational grenades; I suggest you let it go, Mr. Dex."

"It's Ronon, and I shall agree to let it go, for now."

"Good, good", Sheppard sighed as he sat back down in his chair.

"Well, as I was saying, I had a run-in with beings that were shall we say, there but not quite there, and don t look at me that way, Macleod, or you either, Ryan. I m old; it s my privilege to wander in thought."

"Is he always like this?" Teyla asked.

Richie Ryan, who until now had simply ate his dinner in silence but listening intently to every word exchanged nodded and offered Teyla one his trade-marked grins. "Yeah, pretty much, why do you think we ply him with beer?"

"To keep him talking?"

"No, to keep him occupied."

"I see," she replied.

"Well, I don t think they exist exactly on the physical level, so dragging me into their operating field was a royal burn, and don t think that I enjoyed it, because I did not."

"And what did they wish to discuss with you?" Sheppard demanded.

"Basically, and let me put it this way, I experienced the equivalent of my live flashing before my eyes, and I've been around a very, very long time."

"I can vouch for that," Duncan muttered.

"Okay, not that I understand everything that you experienced," Sheppard replied. "What's the up-shot of all this?"

"The up-shot, as Dr. McKay remarked on our way back to the Gate is that I need to learn how to get along in this brave new universe. I also need to learn how to be more cooperative. Not things I am entirely comfortable doing."

"Well, good, we'll get to work on it right away." Sheppard stated.

"If only it were that simple, Duncan sighed. But it's a start."

"Carson will want to question him further on the nature of his visions," Sheppard stated. "I figure, before we need to put in requisition for more beer, I suggest that there s not time like the present."

"Really? Typical military-mind-set, I ll go, I just don t have to like it. "

Dr. Carson Beckett was a decent sort and having been around Duncan MacLeod for quite some time Methos found that he did not even mind the man s unmistakable Scottish burr.

The man plied him with gentle but to the point questions: He was questioned about what he had experienced, how it felt to be engulfed in what Rodney McKay had labelled a gravametric energy field. And quite surprisingly, if he had ever before encountered what the good doctor termed the Ancients.

Methos answered as best he good under the circumstances, meanwhile the pros and cons about telling the truth, or as much of the truth as he reasonably felt comfortable with. The experience had been quite painful, like his very being was being ripped apart but the beings or Ancients or whatever they were, once he was communicating on their level, had been, well, pleasant.

And that was stuck in his craw, the most. He did not want pleasant, he didn't want understanding. At the moment, as drunk as he was likely to get, Methos wanted to hit something or someone, but Carson was too far away in the spacious infirmary and he was not the target of his directionless anger anyway.

"Ancients, samicents, what do they have to do with anything?" Methos demanded.

Everything, Carson replied. For starters they built this city.

"And we suspect they built the Gate and how it provides passage to points near and far within the Pegaus Galaxy, our own, and points beyond."

"Well, hot damn. I ll be buggered."Methos exclaimed. "Are they still around. Unless I was conversing with ghosts, or do honestly believe those were Ancients?"

It's entirely possible, but I can't make a determination at this point."

"Yeah, I figure," Methos replied.

"From your responses, both verbal and non-verbal, I understand that it was quite, ah, painful, he continued and I m not the sort to force my patient to undergo something again that as you put, nearly felt like you were being torn apart."

"You wouldn't?

"No. And if you d like I ll make a note of that in my report. Sheppard and Dr. Weir for that matter, might object, but you let me worry about that."

"Thanks, Doc, I mean it. Methos sighed. Now can I get out of here?"

"Go, go. Dr. Beckkett waved him in the general direction of the door.


	8. Scenes from a Floating World

Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis belongs to Gekko Film Corp, etc, It is not mine. Highlander: the Series belongs to Panzer/Davis Productions. It is not mine.

"Well?" Dr. Elizabeth Weir sat perched on the edge of the one of the computer consoles regarding her chief medical officer with a frank and penetrating look, but one that seemed to imply that she would wait until he finished drawing his conclusions from his examination of the man called Methos, but her patience had its limits.

"Well, the answer is both yes and no. We were warned by his ah, friends, that he would be a most difficult man to pin down, " Dr. Carson Beckett replied. "

"That is exactly why we need to pin him down, as you say, Carson. I don t like having any more mysteries or rather unresolved enigmas on m plate than we can handle, " she replied.

"And while I think we can trust both Ryan and MacLeod to vouch for him, I can t help but get the feeling that this Methos operates on an entirely different order than those two. I don t like, I can t explain it, but I want to deal with it."

"I could have hoped for something a little more concrete to go on than that", Elizabeth sighed.

"And although I believe that, reluctantly but sincerely I believe both of them are playing it straight with us. I've compared their medical records with his and while there are similarities, there are so many other things that don t add up.."

"Okay, let s let that go, for now, Try another tack, have you asked him what s up with the swords? Methos, now, he s an enigma wrapped up in a riddle. Ryan and MacLeod mentioned something about a cosmic game where each has to fight each until the end and whoever is left standing at the end wins. "

"Good god!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "What do they win?"

"They call it the Prize. Some kind of mystical mumbo-jumbo that I cannae make heads or tails off. They take it quite seriously. However, I think we can rest assured that that won t happen here. "

"Well, that makes me feel a whole lot better. I would rather not have to issue an executive order for no sword fights in Atlantis." Elizabeth sighed and reached up to brush aside a strand of her that had fallen down over her eyes. In the back of her mind she could not help but picture a scenario where such a thing took place and shook her head. 'It could happen, but she would be damned that if and when it did occur, that anyone would get killed. Not on her watch.'

Aloud she said. "Carson, did you hear me?"

Carson began to snicker and for a minute or to attempted to stifle his humor at the image she had evoke, keeping a serious and professional demeanor, but somehow the snicker turned into a full-blown chuckle. As soon as he had recovered from his bout of laughter he said: "I am sorry, Elizabeth. But let s hope that you will not have to do that."

"Agreed," she replied.  
***

John Sheppard went looking for Methos, having spent some time looking in what he felt were reasonable places that the other man might have gone after he had reported for his physical in the infirmary. No luck. It was as much as his performing his duty as curiosity that had prompted him to look for him as anything else, added to the fact that he had never seen anyone consume mass quantities of alcohol and still remain upright afterwards.

He had been given to understand by the only two people who might have been able to share their own insight on the man, Ryan and MacLeod, that Methos had a habit of being a chameleon, that he wore masks, he donned them and removed them as suited his need and the situation in which he found himself. Added to the fact was the revelation that Methos was very possibly the oldest immortal still kicking around. When they had told him that, Sheppard felt as if someone could have toppled him over with a feather. If he had not been straining at the proverbial bit before, this detail could have knocked him over with a feather. He wanted to know more, and he wanted to know it now.

Sheppard came into the room, and removed his boots pretending that he was merely going for the quarterstaff mounted on the holding racks and did not see the other man pacing up and down and cursing under his breath.

"Go away!" the other man shouted.

"I have as much right to be here as you do,"Sheppard calmly remarked.

"Fine, just don t interrupt me when I m in the middle of a royal blue funk."

"What to talk about it?"

"What part of don t interrupt, did you not comprehend?" Methos demanded.

"What s put a burr under your saddle?" he asked.

The other man gritted his teeth and his whole body shook either with the intensity of anger or frustration. The most agonizing thing of it all that even in his own mind he could say for certain whether or not his seemingly directionless anger was due to his situation, at himself, or the fact that he d could finagle his way out of his current detestable situation. Oh, sure, he was glad to be alive, instead of blown into his component parts.

Maybe he was mad because MacLeod and Ryan seemed to be adapting to the situation and their new surroundings with aplomb and ease that he could not match.

The trip in the Puddle Jumper with Dr. Rodney McKay had shown that he could give them both a run for them when it came to learning the new technology that surrounded them on all sides on Atlantis, but he still had much to learn. It was aggravating, how much there was for him to learn.

"What do you care!" he muttered aloud and turned his back on Shepaprd.

"Believe it or not, your choice, I do care."

"Why?"

"Because, now that you re here, I am responsible for everyone in this city, that includes you, or little ray of sunshine and because..." he trailed off throwing up his hands in mingled frustration and anger.

"Don't tell me, the boy-scout put you up to this?"

"Boy-Scout? Oh, you must mean Duncan. And for the record, he didn't put me up to anything. I came to talk to you on my own."

"Bully for you, mate."

"You know I had this whole speech worked out,"John Sheppard replied. "I had planned to be subtle about it, but I think maybe we ll go with direct approach instead."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"How it feels, I mean, to be you."

"You re insane, do you realize that? And if you think I m going to tell you that, you can add a death-wish to insanity. Let me put it this way," Methos glided forward and covered the distance between where he stood and where Sheppard stood in a matter of a few seconds and grasped him by the lapels of his uniform.

"I've been around as long as I have by looking out for number one, so you just keep your curiosity and your questions to yourself and we ll both be happier in the long run. Got it?"

Sheppard nodded and pulled himself away from the vise-grip on his collar. "

This isn't over."

"Is that a threat or an observation?" Methos asked after a moment or two of awkward silence passed between them and he returned to his restless pacing.

Sheppard sighed. "A little of both would be a fair enough assessment."

"Well, damn."

"Do you always have to have the last word?" Sheppard asked.

"Yeah, pretty much."


End file.
